


The Bridges of Time

by The_Onyx_Moon



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Affairs, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Cheating, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Loveless Marriage, Marriage of Convenience, Romantic Soulmates, Smut, Soulmate AU, Soulmates, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2018-09-14 15:36:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 25,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9189791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Onyx_Moon/pseuds/The_Onyx_Moon
Summary: Loosely Based off of The Bridges of Madison County - The tale of a man out of time, and the woman who never believed in Soulmates.  When her husband and children are away, a mysterious man stumbles into her life and with a simple brush of skin against skin, their lives are never the same. The two share“a brief affair that is never sordid but instead one of two soulmates who have met too late.”-The Bridges of Madison County





	1. To Build a Home

**Author's Note:**

> So I had been kind of mulling this thought around in my head for a while, and then just today I saw @mrs-squirrel-chester‘s Album Challenge on tumblr and got the kick in the ass I needed to post this. There’s very little chance I’ll finish the whole thing in time for the challenge, but I figured why not? :) Based off of The Bridges of Madison County Original Broadway Cast Recording.
> 
>  
> 
> **I’ve mucked with the timelines a bit, but this is set in an alternate universe sometime between Captain America: The Winter Soldier and Captain America: Civil War, and takes place as if Erik never joined Apocalypse after the death of his family as if they had died at the end of the 90′s instead of the 80′s as portrayed in Apocolypse.**

After the fall of Hydra - and S.H.I.E.L.D., The asset doesn’t quite know what to do.  He’s only ever known pain, and death.  He doesn’t know how to be free.

He considers suicide for a little more than a moment.

Weighs different possibilities in his head, on how he can cease to exist.

His sole purpose is gone with Hydra destroyed, so he has no other reason to live.

Right?

But then, maybe he does know more.  Short flashes returning to him when he sees images, like the ones in the Captain America exhibit at The Smithsonian museum.  Pictures, he decides, will help him remember.

So he obtains a camera and convinces himself the old owner won’t mind.

His last crime, he tells himself.  No more.  He’s a new man now.  His own man.

 _Bucky_ , he recalls.

Seeing himself in photos at the museum is what does it. He sees a younger man.  A kinder man.  A man he hasn’t known in a very long time.

And so he photographs things.

He sees the world, hoping from place to place, carrying nothing more than a few pieces of clothing along with his camera and a notebook in his backpack.

He learns about other cultures, really _learns_.  Doesn’t just _know_ from getting pieces of information shoved in his brain.  He experiences, he learns, and he lives.

He slowly finds himself again, becoming something like the Bucky he once knew.

A piece of information he comes across in his new studies stumps him. 

Soulmates, they’re called.  

Now believed to be folklore or a fairytale, soulmates were the other half of you that had been split from your being at birth.  The second half of your soul that would complete you.  But it was just an old wive’s tale.

Or maybe it wasn’t.

Lots of older folks had soulmates.  There were even stories of folks going off to war and coming home with their other halves in tow.

He didn’t have one of those, he recalls.

Not many soldiers did.

Merciful, he thought, that whoever - whatever - created the soulmates didn’t give them to those lost at war.  Merciful for the one they would’ve left behind.

So then why did he always feel so empty?

Like something inside of him was missing.

And he knows, more than he knows anything else in this world, that soulmates are real.

And he has to avoid finding his at all costs.

Odd, a thought he’s had before.  A fleeting thought that has flurried through his mind as he choked the life out of someone.  That he has to avoid finding his soulmate.  That he doesn’t deserve one, not a monster like him.

He hesitates on every female mark, freezing for just a moment before he reaches out to end them.  What if that was them?  What if the woman he’s been sent to kill is _his_?  But they never are, thank god.

No, not God.  God has…abandoned him.  Thank whatever sick force was at work in this world that his soulmate wasn’t dying at his hands every time he was sent away on another mission.

It’s not like he has a choice.  He can’t fight it.  Can only watch from within as his hands lash out and carry out orders that are so often barked at him in some harsh tongue.

And so finally, when Hydra falls, he runs.

As far as he can, he runs.  And he hides.  And he learns.

He recovers.  He is no longer the asset.  

He is Bucky.  

Only Bucky.

He touches no one, fearful that even so much as brushing someone on the street will knock the wind from his breast, that he will find _her_.   His other half, his soulmate.

The one he doesn’t deserve.

* * *

You didn’t believe in soulmates.

They were a fairytale, bedtime stories your mother had used to coax you to sleep as a child.  A magical lie that made your heart swell at the thought.  Someone made just for you, your other half, who would complete you the second you touched them.  That they would send your world spinning in a vortex of color and light and passion.

But you were wrong.

You had no other half.

Just a gaping hole in your chest that would never be filled.

Instead, you had Erik.  A quiet, intelligent man with the strength of an ox and a secret only you knew.  You married him in your youth, at the age of 16, before you even finished school.  You met him in the most unmemorable way, at a coffee shop.  There was no spark, no breathtaking force that knocked you on your ass.

Just a kind smile that hid a dark and dangerous past, paired with the greenest eyes you had ever seen.

He wasn’t your soulmate, and you weren’t his.

His had died many years ago, along with his young daughter.  But he preferred not to talk about it.  And you preferred not to hear about it.

Together, you could help heal wounds that would otherwise blister and redden.  You could be a family, just the two of you.

Until it wasn’t just the two of you.

Your son came unexpectedly not too long into the first year of your marriage.

Your daughter was planned, she came in year three of this loveless arrangement.

They were your pride and joy, your reason for living. If Erik couldn’t be your soulmate, he at least gave you true love in the form of tubby fingers and baby talk.

Baby talk that soon became words, legs that learned to walk by putting one foot in front of the other.  Tubby fingers that grew into long limbs, a gangly pre-teen.  Then he squares out, has his father’s jaw, and your eyes, and suddenly he’s almost a man.  And your daughter curves, childish features suddenly resembling a young woman.  Your hair, Erik’s eyes.

Pieces of you that made the whole in your chest seem not so big.

And you would never want for more.

…

Right?


	2. Home Before You Know It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is really setting up the family, but Bucky arrives next, don’t worry :) Part 2 of my Album Challenge for @mrs-squirrel-chester (not sure if it was supposed to be a multi-part fic or different one-shots, but you got a multi-part fic! lol)

“Charlie!”  Erik calls up the stairs as he comes back in through the swinging screen door.  “Come on man, we gotta go!”  He smiles sweetly at you as you dote over the stove.  

“Good morning.”  The house was bustling already at 7 a.m. as your husband and children got ready to go on their annual ‘hunting’ trip.

Everyone in the house knew the title was a lie, that the three would spend a week at a time at the school of the man who your son was named for. They would meet with other mutants like themselves, spend the week honing and controlling their abilities under Charles Xavier’s direction.

After losing his last family, Erik vowed he would never let them out of his sight. After discovering both children were Enhanced, Erik made sure to give them as normal a life as the two of you could afford, while also giving them the direction they needed to control their powers.  Which meant a half a year’s worth of school squeezed into a week long period every six months.

“Good morning, Dove.” A soft kiss is pressed to your cheek.  “I hope we didn’t wake you?”

“No, I was already up.” You smile, dishing out breakfast onto three separate plates.  "Having trouble 'rousing the rascals?“

"Always.”  Erik chuckles, making his way up the stairs to attempt to drag your children out of the house.  The stairs creak under his weight, and you make a mental note to take a look at them while he’s gone.

The house is quaint, a lovely little farmhouse in the middle of nowhere where Erik could live out his fantasy of a normal life.  The first story was occupied by the kitchen, dining room, living room, and a bathroom, while the second story housed the living quarters, and a fair amount of farm land.  It wasn’t anything special, but it was a good enough house for four and an old dog, Mickey, to call home.  It wasn’t the life you’d imagined as a kid, but it was _yours_ , and you were happy to find someone to spend it with, even if that someone were only your best friend.

Soulmates were all but a thing of the past.  As the years went by, less and less people seemed to meet their other half, until it was a rarer occurrence than not having one at all.  Most folks lived a solitary life, you were lucky enough to marry your best friend.

The neighbors, Darcy and Chris, were the only Soulmates you knew.  One of the only couples lucky enough to feel a real, Earth shattering, awe-inducing love.  They were also the nosiest people you knew.  Your family hadn’t even gone yet, and Darcy was pressing her wrinkled old face up to the glass of their windows.  When she sees you waving at her through your own, she disappears.

“Morning, Momma.”  Charlie greets as he settles in for breakfast.  “Brann up yet?”

“No, I’m afraid she hasn’t budged yet.  Eat your breakfast quickly, your father needs help packing the car.”  You say, making your way around the table to start packing a bag of snacks for their road trip.  At the heavy footfalls tromping their way down the stairs, you realize that Erik has returned.

“There he is!  About time, thought I would have to load up all by myself.  Dove, have you seen my -”  You hold up the keys in question, having noticed him patting at all the pockets of his clothes before speaking up.  You couldn’t read each others’ mind, had very different tastes, and were two incredibly different human beings.  But after all your time together, you had learned to think what the other was thinking, and formed a routine of sorts.  “Thanks, Luv.”  

As he exits the house, he nods for Charlie to follow him.  The teen jumps up before running after him, calling something about being able to drive.  You use the time you’ve been given to go wake your daughter up.

“Brann?  Darling, it’s me, can I come in?”  When she doesn’t answer after a few moments, you try the door handle, sighing in relief when you realize it isn’t locked.  “Honey, the boys are just about ready to go.  Is everything alright?”

“I don’t want to go.”  The answer comes, muffled through a pillow.  You make your way over to the bed, sinking down beside your daughter to rub circles against her back.

“Why’s that, hon?” 

“I don’t want to go because that just means we’ll have to _leave_.  I don’t understand why Charlie and I can’t just go to school there year round.  Everyone else does!”

“You know why, Brann.  Your father just wants you to be safe.  Besides, he looks forward to this time with you!  You get to be who you really are with him, isn’t that enough?”

“It would be better if I didn’t have to hide it all the time.”  She mumbles, rolling over, so she’s facing you.  “I wish you would come with us.”

“There’s no room, darling.  Besides, this is for you.  Not me.”  You brush a stray tear off of her face before standing and scanning the room for her suitcase.  “Now come on!  They won’t wait forever, you know.”

And as if on cue, you hear bickering downstairs, followed by a shout of your name.  Rolling her eyes, Brann grabs her bag and takes your hand to walk downstairs.

“Mom, tell Dad to let me drive!”  Charlie pleads.  “He said when I was old enough I could drive, and now he won’t let me!”

“Charlie, I already said -”

“But I’m old enough now, dad!"  You rolled your eyes at the boy, knowing he was nowhere near close to being old enough to drive.  “I’m a better driver than you are!”

“Hey, that is enough!”  You snap, asserting yourself as you usher Brann off to put the snack bag in the car.  “Erik, let Charlie drive.  If anything goes wrong, you can just control the car.”

“What?  But that’s not fair!”

“Do you want to drive?”

“Well, yeah, but -”

“That’s the deal, Charlie.  Take it or leave it.”  There are a few moments where Charlie mulls over his options before he huffs out a ‘fine’ and stomps out the door.  As soon as he’s gone, Erik thanks you with a kiss on the cheek.

“I wish you could come with us.  You’d love Charles, really, and he’d be happy to have you.”  You brush him off, going about cleaning the dishes and setting them to dry.

“Don’t worry about it, Erik.  This is for you and the kids, I’d just be out of place.  Besides, I only get the house to myself two weeks a year.  I’m going to take advantage of the silence.”

“Don’t get too use to it, Dove.  We’ll be home before you know it.”  You follow him out onto the porch, hugging your children tightly before they run off to the car.  Beside you, Erik grabs one last bag and slings an arm around your waist and presses a kiss to your hair.

“Please be careful.”  You plead, hugging him back, though your eyes are locked on the silhouettes you can see through the car windows.

“Always am.”  He promises with a smile.  “I’ll call you when we get there.”  And with that, he’s in the car, pulling out of the gravel drive as Charlie and Brann wave to your through the windows.  The second their car is out of sight, Darcy’s door opens and you groan to yourself.

“Y/N!”  She greets with a wave you reluctantly return.  “Afternoon!  Husband and kids off hunting again?”

“Yes, ma’am!  Just got them all out, now I’m going to go take a long awaited soak.”  You chuckle with every intention for that to be the end of the conversation.  Darcy, as always, continues.

“It’s just so odd!”  She says.  “It’s not even season!”

“Yes, well, Erik knows where to find all the good game.”  You fib, nodding curtly as you slowly back toward your house out of the shared gravel driveway.  “It was nice talking with you Darcy, but I really should get inside before my bath runs cold.  Good afternoon!”  And with that, you shut the door behind you and sigh.

You’re just about to run upstairs to run said bath - it didn’t sound like such a bad idea, after all! - when Mickey starts barking at the door.  With a groan, you follow the dog’s line of vision, eyes landing on a beat up old truck.

_What now?_


	3. Temporarily Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so the first lyrics for Temporary Lost are “I left 8 days ago from Washington” and all I could think of was Broken Buck limping away from his best friend on the waterside and - ~~oh god, I need a minute.~~

Mickey’s deep bark continues to ring in your ears as the new vehicle turns off.  You stare at the truck outside, hand reaching down to pet the dog that has now run up to your side.  Your heart is just hammering in your chest as you run your fingers through his soft fur and you can feel that something has shifted in the air around you.

Darcy didn’t say she was expecting company, and there weren’t any other neighbors for miles.  Had someone found Erik and taken the opportunity of his absence to get to you?  You’re almost on the verge of panic and cling to the dog for safety.

But then the truck door opened and a character with a camera hops out.  He stands out against the blue sky, large frame hiding beneath a soft brown leather jacket, some rough jeans, and a blue baseball cap.  The license plate reads ‘Washington State’ and the man it held is unlike any you’d ever seen.

No, not a man. That description didn’t do him justice. He was massive, broad shoulders threatening to tear free from the jacket he’s sporting.  You can’t see much of his face under the brim of his cap and long chestnut tresses, but you can see his jaw.  Square and clenched tight as the cold air of the afternoon nips at his skin.  Red lips are settled among the dark scruff covering his jawline and pink cheeks.  When he glances up, you’re all but knocked back from the sight alone.  Sharp cheekbones flirt with the sunlight as he squints the bluest eyes you’d ever seen.  Eyes that reach something deep in the pit of your stomach, calling you out to him.

You watch him raise his camera, snapping pictures of the sky over the horizon and the farmland that stretches on for miles in front of your houses.  Not sure what compels you to move, you grab a coat and make your way out the door once more.

Mickey runs about your feet, protecting his human as she approaching the complete - and obviously dangerous - stranger.

“Excuse me, are you lost?”  You ask timidly, tugging your coat tighter around you.  He jumps at the sound of your voice and you have to bite back a smile at the thought that such a large and intimidating man could be frightened by _you_.  He turns to you, sheepish look on his face, and meets your eyes.

Despite the harsh winter air, warmth ricochets through your very being and you have to remind yourself to breathe.  

“N-no, I, uh -”  He bumbles as he stares at you with a terrified look on his face.  You’re not the only who feels it, apparently.  “I’m sorry, I was just admiring the view.”  He admits, sweeping a heavily bundled up arm towards the skyline.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Please, don’t be sorry.”  You say and you’re really not sure why.  You knew nothing of this man, but for some reason you _want to_.  “It really is a wonderful sight.”  He smiles at the sound of your voice, clearing his own as he drops the full weight of his camera onto the strap around his neck.  “But this isn’t even the best spot.”  And for whatever reason, you gesture for him to follow.

Ever so hesitantly, as if he’s not sure why, he trails after you as Mickey brings up your flank.  He’s still eyeing the man as if he doesn’t trust him, and you honestly aren’t sure why you _do_.

You walk in silence for a few minutes that seem to stretch on forever.  He’s a half pace behind you, though those long legs making it as if he were right beside you.  His eyes are set straight ahead while yours constantly dart to his face, observing his completely forgein yet all too comfortable presence.

Finally, you make it to the edge of your land.

“Here’s where the real beauty is.”  You say with a smile, watching the pure awe wash over his face.  A gorgeous mix of colors stretches out before the two of you, trees of every different shade speckling rolls hills of red and green.  Some trees have lost their leaves, while others still stand full and tall.  A handful of livestock and horses - both yours and the neighbors’ - roam through the field as the sunlight bleeds through the trees.  “Would you care to get closer?”

His attention is suddenly back to you, his bottom lip stuck between his teeth as he regards you hesitantly. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all!  We hardly ever get visitors out here, I’d forgotten how much I missed the company.”  You unlatch the gate that separates you from this Eden and motion for him to enter.  Immediately he’s plucking up his camera again, capturing the way the light paints the meadow.  Standing so close to him now, you realize he dwarfs you, you barely even reach his chiseled, dimpled chin. You watch him intently, noting the way he flits from subject to subject, photographing the flowers, then the sun, then the horizon, and all of the sudden you feel all too sheepish.  “You know I never caught your name?”

There’s a moment where he brings the camera down and struggles for the right words.  “Bucky.”  He offers after several moments of floundering.  “My name is Bucky.”  His ever spreading blush tugs at your heart and you can’t help but give him your name in return.  His eyes sparkle and white teeth peak out from behind impossibly red lips.  “Y/N.”  He rolls it around in his mouth, tasting it like nothing in the world felt more right.  “That’s beautiful.”  Now it’s your turn to blush.

“Where’s home?”  Something flickers behind his eyes at the question and you can only hope that you haven’t offended him.

“Don’t really have one, to be honest.  I was in the army, so I got used to traveling.”  His camera falls against his chest once more, his full focus landing on you as he leans against a nearby tree.  “I just…go from place to place, really.  Been sleeping in the truck for as long as I can…remember.”

“Surely you have a home!  Where are you from?”

“Brooklyn.”  He admits with a sour smile.  “I haven’t been back there in years, though.  I uh…just left Washington, actually.”

“Really?  Were you there for that nasty business at S.H.I.E.L.D.?  It’s been all over the news.”

“No.”  He snaps, flinching when he realizes how harsh it came out.  “I uh, just missed it by a couple of days.”  He amends, then sighs.  “I thought that was old news?  It happened over a year ago, after all.”

“Well, I guess it all just fascinates me.  They haven’t reported on it lately, but…I don’t know.”  You sputter, smile faultering as your face heats.  “I wasn’t really able to let that story go.  Something about it just…called to me, and I wanted to figure out why.  I guess I crave a little adventure.  It’s beautiful out here, sure, but I miss people, and the adventure of living in the city.”

You don’t realize you’ve been rambling until you look to him once more.  The smile his lips are curved into makes your heart skip a beat and you have to suck in a particularly large gulp of air to accommodate for the way he’s short-circuiting your brain with just a look.  Sputtering for a new subject, you motion to his camera with a shaking hand.

“So, Bucky,”  you begin, thrilling at the way his name feels on your tongue, “you’re a photographer, then?”  He blows his cheeks out as he observes you and his eyes dart to your hands.   _When had to begun to fiddle with your wedding ring?_

“I suppose.”  He answers shortly as you snap your arms apart, clasping them behind your back.   _Why was he making you so nervous?_

“You suppose?”

“Well, I suppose my reason for…photographing things is where I’m a bit…different.”

“So then why do you take pictures?”  He shakes his head then, a small laugh puffing out of his chest and becoming a cloud past his lips.  The sight makes you tug your clothes a little tighter for warmth.

“To remember.”  Those blue eyes swivel to you as he purses his lips.  “They’re not pretty.  Not even really artful in…any way.  But they help me remember where I’ve been.”  He shrugs.  “What I’ve seen.”

“And what have you seen?”

There are a few moments of silence as he wrestles with his decision on whether or not he’ll tell you the truth.  In the end, he does, and it surprises even him.

“I’ve been pretty much the everywhere, but I’ve only really _seen_ a small part of it all.  Up until recently…it was like I was just watching myself but it wasn’t really me.  I would go to these places but never experience them.  After Washington, I was given a chance to see the world.  Was given the freedom.”  He looks down to his camera, his gloved hands flicking through the photos on the display.  “I’ve been out of the country now, and the world is just beautiful.  It’s _changed_ , but…something keeps bringing me back to the states.”  Those flickering eyes draw closed under a furrowed brow before they open once more, immediately finding yours.  “I just don’t know what it is.” 

There’s something there, beneath the surface, that has you dying to get closer to him, to know what’s swimming in those murky eyes, what past has shaped him into this intimidating beast of a man who is, in fact, a shy little puppy.  He fascinates you, and _God,_ do you want to know more.

“Would you like to come inside?”  You ask suddenly, and you’re not sure why, but then he’s nodding at you with that sweet smile and you’re happy that you did.


	4. You're Never Alone/Another Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What the hell is this? What is this angsty, slow burn shit I’m writing? I feel like my brain is still fried from that fucking paper I had to write. Ah well, we press on! (totally just realized I named the neighbor Darcy…no, she is not the MCU Darcy. She’s just a nosey, old neighbor. Oops.)
> 
> Also, I’m about to hit 3,500 followers on tumblr!!! (I am so gobsmacked and humbled…how do y’all even put up with me?) What should I do to celebrate?? Drabble requests? A choose your own adventure?? A selfie/picture challenge or something??? Y’all tell me what you want!!!

You lead Bucky inside your home, the only sounds being that of the bugs chirping in the afternoon air and the boards squeaking beneath your feet and Mickey’s claws.

The porch door causes you both to jump, the lightweight door smacking against the frame once behind you, only to bounce off and make a shuttering contact again.

The silence that follows is deafening.

“Ah,” Bucky clears his throat finally.  “Y-you have a lovely home.”  He mutters sheepishly, standing just inside the door - almost scared that if he moves any further inside, the house will fall apart around him.

“You don’t have to lie to me, hon.  I’m surprised this old place is still standing.”

He falls into silence once more, the look on his face making your heart shutter.  How can such a large, intimidating man resemble a kicked puppy at your words?

“Would you like something to drink?” You recover, tearing your eyes from the simply magnetic man.  To put some space between the two of you, you open the refrigerator door.  It isn’t until you’ve hidden behind it and bent at the waist that you can breathe again.  “I’ve got water, tea, beer…”

“Water, please.  I uh, don’t drink alcohol.”  You’re sure your eyebrows shoot up at that, a smile sneaking its way onto your face as you regard him around the door.

“Really?  Well,  _I_  do.  I hope you don’t mind?”  You ask, tilting a bottle towards him in jest.  His chuckle absolutely  _dances_  down your spine and you have to make a conscious effort not to whimper.

“Of course not.  It’s your house, after all.”  You even find yourself chuckling along with him as you pop your bottle open and pour a glass of water for your guest.  You steel yourself to face him again and purposely avoid eye contact as you offer him the cup.  You know if you look into those depths again, you damn well may drop the glass.

But after a few beats of silence, you force yourself to look at him, really look at him, and your heart shutters in your chest.

Bucky is staring wide eyed in horror at your bare hand, his large frame going completely rigid.  Oh god, did you offend him in some way?  Did he suddenly realize how strange it was to be invited into your house even though you knew nothing about him? Was he actually a psycho who was about to murder you?

But then his left hand is reaching out timidly, his shaking, gloved fingers being very careful to not touch you as he takes the water.  You feel your heart race for a moment at his proximity, but you can’t let go of just how badly he wanted  _not_  to touch you.  You’re almost a little offended…

“Sorry,” he begins.  “I’m…just a little skittish, still.  I’ve seen a lot.  Done… a lot.  I just don’t want to hurt anyone.”   _Did I actually just tell her that?  “_ Army.”  He attempts to cover haphazardly.

Bucky’s shock is echoed on your face for a moment, but thankfully you recover quickly when those kind eyes find yours once more.

“Please, have a seat!”  You offer suddenly, feeling like an ass for not offering earlier. Gesturing to the table, you make your way over as well and can’t help but feel all too small next to Bucky’s large frame.  A frame that was still wrapped in multiple layers but did nothing to hide the muscles lurking beneath the surface. Odd, considering the morning coolness had given way to the summer heat of the afternoon.

“So…” Bucky begins, drumming his fingers on the table.  The gloves between his skin and the wood dampen the sound, the dull, quick thumping matching the pace of your heartbeat.  “Is this a family home?”

“Sort of. It belonged to a friend of my mother’s, but she was ill and couldn’t take care of it on her own. Actually, we moved in while she was still living here.”

“We?”  He asks.

“My husband and I.”  You admit, realizing those words had never felt so strange on your tongue before this moment.  You continue, convincing yourself that if you tell him you’re a mother, whatever spell seems to be on the two of you will dissipate and these feelings for a man who isn’t your husband will go away.  “She lives not too far from here now, with my mother.  Having them so close was a real blessing.  It was a real help when the kids came along.”

The silence that follows isn’t as heavy as you anticipated.  If anything, it almost seems like he lights up at the mention of kids.

“How many do you have?”

“Two,” you say, though you’re not sure why you’re openly admitting this to a complete stranger.  But he really doesn’t feel like a stranger… “A boy and a girl.”

“That’s wonderful.  You must really love them.  Tell me about them?”

There’s a pull in your chest at the soft look behind his eyes and the innocence in his voice.  A familiarity from a lifetime ago, a life that you never got to live.  Almost as if, for the first time ever, you feel that there was really someone out there that was  _made_  for you.

“Well, the kids are wonderful.  Brann is a brilliant mind.  She astounds me every day, the way she can just look at a challenge and decide that she’s going to tackle it. She used to dream of being a scientist, but then she found art.  Oh, Bucky, her way with paint is just…well, I’ll have to see if I can dig up one of her paintings for you.”  You catch the words a moment after they tumble free and you don’t miss the way Bucky’s nostrils and pupils flare when you say his name.  “Um, that is if you have the time?”  Clearing your throat, you move on.  “Charlie is named for my husband’s oldest friend, though I’ve never had the chance to meet him.  Charlie works with his father at the town’s mechanic shop.  He’s always been great with meta-um, cars. Cars. J-just like his father.”  Had you really almost blurted out your family’s deepest secret like it was this week’s gossip?

Your horror consumes you for a moment, your blood thrumming in your ears your eyes blurring with tears.  What in the hell was it about this man that had you almost betraying your family’s trust so damn easily?

You’re so lost in the way your heart hammers painfully in your suddenly dry throat that you miss the moment where Bucky’s own instincts falter for a moment.  After years of not touching anyone if he doesn’t have to, of avoiding contact with everyone for the entire last year, Bucky reaches out as if to put his hand comfortingly over your own.  

The speed at which he pulls away is as if he had been burned, your hands never having touched. He recovers quickly.

“And your husband?”

“Erik.”  When you don’t elaborate, Bucky scoots his chair closer to you, an action that has you both feeling some foreign sense of comfort.

“What’s he like?”  Your eyes meet his then as you finally let yourself look at him again.  That same, sweet smile is pulled across those impossibly plump lips and you find yourself smiling as well.  Then his question registers in your mind.

“Oh, my husband…Well, uh, as I said he’s the mechanic.  A good man, we married early.  Very early.”

“You must really love him,”  Bucky says, his heart stinging at the implication that you loved someone so much that you would marry them so quickly.

“Well, I suppose.”  Your words are like a bucket of cold water being dropped over the two of you.  “I mean, he is my best friend.”

Bucky has to take a deep breath to steady himself as he stares right into your very being.  He speaks the question before he can stop himself, but he can’t bring himself to regret asking.

“Is that all he is to you?”

You don’t have to say anything for Bucky to have his answer.  He knows after the way you gush and shine when speaking of your children in comparison to the way you speak of Erik.  A respect is there perhaps, but anything beyond platonic love is distinctly absent.  He wonders what could make you feel that way, and why you felt inclined to marry a man you didn’t love in the first place.

Selfishly, Bucky’s heart lightens at that.   _No soulmate_ …

“Well, what about you?”  You ask after a few moments of heavy silence.  When he furrows his brows in question, you take a sip of your drink and elaborate.  “Anyone special in your life?”

“I’m…not sure.  There was…one woman, but I don’t know if I ever really…loved her.”  He recalls how he remembered her.  Sure, he’d seen her during his last few days with Hydra, but his brain was still aching from the last wipe.  It wasn’t until weeks after his liberation that he  _remembers_  her.

Natasha.

It’s in Chicago when she haunts his mind again.  Approximately three weeks after The Fall, he’s walking against the brisk morning air when he passes a studio.  Ballet, to be precise.  A class has just gotten out, he gathers because the door swings open to a handful of little girls giggling about their turns and dawning their coats.  One stops short at the sound of her name, a woman Bucky can only assume is the instructor following her out the door.  The older woman chides the girl for a moment before handing her a pair of small, worn down, pink ballet slippers and Bucky jolts.

Fleeting - An image of red hair.  A ballet studio - cold, not like this one.  No windows, and no joyous little girls.  Only machines.  Little robots waiting to be programmed. 

He doesn’t need to photograph this particular moment.  He’s not sure how he forgot this feeling in the first place…

Of course, he can’t tell you any of this.  But he  _wants to_.

“What was her name?”  Your voice pulls him out of his own head, a place that is so difficult for him to escape, and he  _sees_  you again.

“Natasha,”  Bucky tells you, and he’s honestly not sure why he does. “Her name was Natasha.”  Natasha was  _beautiful._   Poised, reserved, and willing.  The perfect clay.  But fiery, and driven.  Her own woman despite it all.

He respects her, admires her even, but he never loved her.  He didn’t even come close to feeling for her after months of wild romps that he feels for you after just a few hours.

“Where did you meet?”  You ask.

_The Red Room.  I was to train her._

“At school.  She asked me to be her tutor.”  He feels like he isn’t worthy of the smile you gift him with.

“Your first love?”

_No love.  Only physical.  A reprieve from the abuse we were both so used to._

“Perhaps, at least the closest thing to it.”  You don’t miss the way his eye blazed at you in that moment.

“So,” you attempt to break the tension, “you really are a lone wolf then?”

The nervousness melts away then, though Bucky is still a little reserved behind that kind smile.

“As lone as they come.”

“You don’t even have any war buddies you adventure with?  Any family?”

A moment passes, a memory flashing in Bucky’s eyes.

_A train, a gloved hand, his name being screamed as icy wind licks at his chapped cheeks…_

“M’fraid not.”  A small, hesitant smile.  One you return.  “Not for a long time…but…it was a long time ago.”  At the look you give him, Bucky finds the courage to elaborate.  “There was always Stevie.”

“Tell me about him.”

You spend the afternoon with Bucky, eventually moving to the living room to talk.  Mickey has given the two of you some space, almost as if he too can feel that this man isn’t any threat to you.

You talk of childhoods - Bucky being surprisingly open with you so much so that he almost scares himself.  He tells you of his best friend who didn’t seem to know when to quit, and you swear you can hear the heartbreak in those words.  You tell him of your life growing up, then your life on the farm.  Your own children’s childhoods.  

He tells you of battle, the dark and twisted war-zones that helped shape his life over the past several years.  He tells you of recovery, a surprisingly vulnerable topic that he has no problem opening up to you about.  He feels a connection with you that he has never felt with another person before.

And you feel the exact. same. way.

He listens intently as you speak, an enamored look gracing his gorgeous features and you’re all he can hear.  Like there’s no one else in the world.  When he speaks, he’s passionate and explosive, worlds away from the reserved man you met just that morning.  But there are times when he catches himself, realizes how excited he has gotten, and apologizes before shrinking back in on himself.

You find yourself wanting to know what could have possibly trained such a response in him.

You don’t realize that you’ve been talking for hours until you hear a knock on your door and notice that the sun has gone down.

“Christ!”  You exclaim, almost launching yourself over the couch to answer the door.

Darcy’s pinched face stares back at you, her dark eyes desperately trying to look inconspicuous as she attempts to spy past you and into your living room.

“Darcy!  Evening!”

“Is everything alright, Y/N?”  A smile spread across her lips. “I noticed that truck is still there.  That young man wouldn’t happen to still be here, would he?”

Your heart races, though it has no reason to.  Darcy’s words drip guilt onto you, but you know you’ve done nothing wrong.  But it sure does feel like it when you’ve spent the last few hours getting to know a man who makes your heart beat faster than your husband can.

“He is,”  you admit.  “An old family friend that’s spending a few days in town.  Nothing to worry yourself over, Darc.”

“Mhmm.”  She doesn’t look the least bit convinced.  “Just be careful dear.  You know how Erik gets when he leaves you alone on these trips.  He cares for you, you know?”  

“Goodnight, Darcy.”  You answer shortly, closing the door before she can get another stab in.

“I see that I’ve worn out my welcome,”  Bucky says as he pushes his large frame off of your tiny couch.  You’d almost forgotten how  _much_  of this man there was after the way he was reduced to a small boy as you spoke.  “I’ll leave you be.  Besides, I should let you get to bed.”

“You’re really no bother at all, Bucky.  I enjoy your company.”  His smiles grows sweeter, if possible, the lopsided curve of his lips nearly causing you to sigh.  “Well can I at least help you get to the nearest motel?”  You offer sheepishly.

“No need miss, my bed’s right outside.”  He says, jingling his keys.  Your jaw drops at what he’s implying and you’re stumbling over yourself as you plead with him.

“Please!  I can’t let you sleep in that old truck when I have two open beds! You can stay in my son’s room.  I really wouldn’t mind.”  You hope you hadn’t sounded too desperate.

“That’s alright, really.  I can’t really sleep on a mattress all that well anymore.”  There’s a pause as that same faraway look haunts deep blue irises and you smile sadly at him.

“The army?”

A moment passes where he pitches a war within himself, debating whether or not to tell you the truth or a lie.  He settles on somewhere in between.  “Yeah.  Something like that.”  

You’re not sure if it’s the way the evening light hits his impossibly sharp cheekbones, or the way his lips all but call out to you, but you find yourself gravitating ever closer to this man.

This man who seems to be gravitating ever closer to you as well.

His eyes dart down, finding your lips, and you feel a thrill run through you at the way they darken.  You don’t realize that you’ve both been backing up until your back hits the door and Bucky’s hands find purchase on the wall beside your head.

His hair falls forward, a canopy that shades his face and makes all the contours and lines seem just that much more inviting.  When he tugs that impossibly red lower lip of his between pearly white teeth, you find it hard to breathe.

Your heart hammers, your thighs squeeze tightly together, and your tongue wets suddenly dry lips - an action that has Bucky rumbling low in his chest.  

You’re positive he’s about to kiss you.

No, with the way he’s looking at you, you’re sure he’s about to devour you.

But then the phone rings, and the spell dissipates, and reality comes slamming back into you.

“That’s, uh, probably Erik.  I should…”

“Of course.”  Bucky slowly peels himself away from you, at a speed that almost seems as if it almost hurts to put space between the two of you.  You can’t help but notice you feel the same.  He watches you from where he stands rooted to the spot as you make your way toward the ringing telephone.  When you look up, he gifts you with that lopsided smile and tucks some hair that has fallen loose behind his ear.  

A shy boy standing where an absolutely irresistible man stood just seconds before.  

When neither of you make no effort to speak, he nods and turns to the door.

“Bucky,”  You rush, not caring how desperate you sound as you try to stop this mysterious man from just walking straight out of your life.  “Don’t be a stranger…if you’re looking for some company tomorrow afternoon…?”

A silent chuckle blows out through his nose, his large chest lifting when he realizes you don’t want him to leave just a much as he doesn’t  _want_  to leave.  And so, with one final smile and a nod, he opens the door and bids you good night, leaving you alone to answer the call from your husband.


	5. Wondering/What Do You Call A Man Like That?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to roll now for our wonderful reader and Mr. Barnes! What will happen next??? - Also, as usual, I don’t have a Beta so any errors you see please feel free to let me know so I can fix them :)

Bucky watches you through the window as he slowly makes his way back to his truck.  The phone pressed up to your ear, the way you pinch the bridge of your nose to dispell whatever feeling was tugging at both of you right now.  He memorizes every detail, never wanting to forget you.  Darcy has since made her way inside, but the way Bucky’s hair stands on end tells him that she’s looking through her window.

 _Not safe here._ He thinks, but then visions of your eyes dance behind his own and his heart thumps in his chest.   _Space.  I need to put ground between us._

The sound of the engine turning over is unexpectedly loud, and he cringes at the noise.  How had only a few hours with you made all of his nerves catch fire?  And why was it so physically painful to put distance between your quaint little farmhouse and his beat-up truck?

* * *

He couldn’t come back.  Aside from the fact that it was already time to move on, whatever had happened between you two was  _dangerous_.  You were intoxicating, and he needed to get you out of his veins.

 _Nothing’s gonna happen._   He tells himself as he makes his way down the road.   _Nothing’s gonna happen..._

So then  _why_  did he want something to happen?  Why did he want to turn this beat up pile of junk around to pull you into his arms and pour everything he was feeling into a kiss?  He wanted _you,_ wanted to be the reason you light up like you do when thinking of your kids.

_Nothing’s gonna happen...Nothing has to happen._

* * *

The night ticks by so slowly, Mickey curled up by your legs as you stare at the ceiling.  You catch yourself wondering if that magnificent man is somewhere in his truck thinking of nothing but you.

The thought almost makes you laugh.

You’re a married woman, a mother.  And he is a  _specimen_.  Why would he be thinking about you?  But then again, why are you thinking of him when your family is gone.

The thought catches you in surprise.  This was the first time that you hadn’t looked forward to Erik’s call when they reached Charles’s place.  The first time you’d let the day slip away from you, the first time you’d spent time with a stranger who made your heart beat a mile a minute.

What kind of man was he?  What had he been through to make him so jumpy and withdrawn?  And what would it take to pull the sweet Bucky you’d seen briefly from the depths of those tortured eyes?

Those eyes that bore so deeply into your own and made you feel beyond exposed.

Could he be...?

 _No,_  you chastise yourself,  _soulmates don’t exist.  I’m just lonely, and he is...so beautiful._

When you finally doze off, it’s with visions of red lips pulled into a smile and eyes that are impossibly blue in your head.

* * *

You’re not sure what time it is when Mickey starts to bark, but the sun is peaking through your curtains already.  When you hear a few soft knocks, you groan.

“Mick!”  You call after several minutes.  “Hush up!  I’m coming!”  You rub the sleep from your eyes as you pad down the stairs, robe pulled tight around your nightgown.  Preparing yourself for Darcy’s pestering so early in the morning, you start the coffee maker before finally opening the door.

Only...it’s not Darcy.

“Oh my god, it wasn’t a dream.”  You say before you can catch yourself, and the chuckle that accompanies a dazzling smile at your outburst has you clutching the door to stay upright.

After several moments of silence, Bucky clears his throat.  The gravelly sound of his voice so early in the morning is like music to your ears.

“Good morning to you too, ma’am.”

“Bucky, if you call me ma’am, I’m going to feel like your mother.”

“Now why would you say that, doll?”   _Doll?_   Now  _that_  you liked.

You raise an eyebrow at the younger  ~~(looking)~~  man, gesturing to him before reminding him how old you are.  He shrugs, as if the age gap doesn’t bother him, then smiles once more.

“Sorry, Doll.  Old habits.”  He says, winking.  “Still hoping for some company?”  You feel the smile stretching across your face almost instantly and you know you’ve already made up your mind.

“What’d you have in mind?”  You’re gifted with a smile that makes your belly flip.

“There’s a bridge not too far from here that I found last night.  I wanted to grab some photos with the sunrise.”  He says, a sudden blush dusting his features and his eyes duck away from yours.  “I got so excited to see yo-it, to see _it_ , that I didn’t think about how early it really was.”

“It is a little early, but I’ve never been one to pass up a sunrise.”

You shared a smile, your heart leaping when he looked at you again.

“J-just let me change real quick.”  You rush, suddenly remembering you were in all too thin pajamas.  “Make yourself at home, I won’t be long.”

You swear his eyes travel down the expanse of your body hungrily, but quickly dismiss the thought as you make your way back upstairs.

 _What do you wear to take sunrise photos with the man of your dreams?_ A voice inside your head screeched.   _You’re looking too far into it!  He just wants to take you with because you’re the only person he knows around here.  It has nothing to do with the way he looks at you like you’re the first woman he’s ever seen.  Like he can see straight into your soul..._

“Mrs. Lehnsherr?”  He calls up suddenly, breaking you from your musings.  “You alright?”  His voice is growing closer and closer, your heart picking up speed with every heavy footstep that echoes up your stairs.

“Yes, sorry!  I’ll be down in a moment!”  The footfalls cease, and you shake yourself from whatever spell he had cast on you to throw on the first outfit you lay eyes on.  Your gown pools at your feet quietly as you pull on and fasten your bra, then lean for the blouse you’d just plucked from the hanger.

Bucky isn’t quite sure why, but something is tugging him up those stairs.  You  _just_  said you’d be right down, but he can’t ignore the voice tickling the back of his mind, urging him to go to you.  He isn’t even aware he’s mindlessly following the feeling until he’s rounding your doorway, reality slamming him back into the present.

The sharp inhale has you spinning on your bare feet, your capris clutched tightly in your hands as bluer than blue eyes lock with your own.

You are instantly aware of how much skin is on display as his eyes break from yours to drag down your body.  He’d gotten more of a look than before when you came down in your pajamas, the thin material leaving little to the imagination, even under your robe, but this...  He drinks in everything exposed to him, noting the way you’d barely buttoned your blouse before he came in. Your breasts are barely covered by the blouse, collarbones on full display.  Soft skin is teasing him, peaking out from beneath your bra and down to your navel.  You don’t miss the way his tongue comes out to wet his lips as this gaze wanders ever lower.

Your legs capture most of his attention, your curves peeking out from pastel cotton and going on for what seems like miles.  A groan fills the empty air, low and rough and masculine and you have to squeeze your thighs together.  The move does not go unnoticed, of course, and his gaze flicks back up to yours instantly.

Only now the blue has been swallowed by black pupils, blown out with lust.  And all of it is because of  _you_.

It is silent for far longer than you’d care for, neither of you moving an inch as Bucky devours you from afar and you memorize the way his fists clench and unclench along with his jaw in an effort to keep his distance.  Then, his voice breaks the tension.

“I’m sorry,” though he doesn’t doesn’t sound it, “I shouldn’t have come in unannounced.” Clearing his throat once more and smiling as if he hadn’t just undressed you with his eyes.  “I’ll be in the truck.”


	6. Look at Me/The World Inside a Frame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This slow burn is killing me, but damn it all I am going to stick to it! I hope you guys enjoy. you know the drill - I got no Beta, let me know of any mistakes you catch. Love y’all!

The ride to Bucky’s mystery location is fraught with tension and side glances.  You do your best to forget the way that he looked at you in your room, but no one’s ever looked at you like that before.

You had only had sex enough times to count on one hand.  There was no desire to before your marriage, so why bother?  And within your marriage - the first time to test the waters.  It was clumsy, awkward.  You didn’t finish.  It resulted in your son.

The only other times were on purpose - you wanted another child.  It only took a few tries for her.  You would never tell Erik that you were relieved by that fact, but then you could tell the feeling was somewhat mutual.  You weren’t his soulmate, she’d died before you’d even met and you knew there was no way you could ever replace her, but you could offer him friendship and children.  A semblance of the family he’d lost.

It was an arrangement neither of you had a problem with  ~~until Bucky~~.  A picture perfect life that you could frame.  You’d never thought to look outside of that frame until now. 

But Bucky…the way he looked at you…  It was like nothing you’d ever felt before.  Like you were gorgeous.  Like he wanted  _you,_ not whatever fantasy world you could offer him.

“We’re here.”  Bucky suddenly said, tearing you from your thoughts.  You exit the truck at the same time, the engine dying as you took in the scenery.  You’d known where Bucky had been talking about, but seeing it now in the breaking light of morning it was the most beautiful sight you’d ever seen.  “Amazing, isn’t it?”

You turned to him, sharing his smile.

“It is.  So peaceful.”  You said.  “I’d forgotten what this was like.”  Beneath your feet, the grass disappears to make way for the wooden bridge as you make your way further into the picturesque view.

He cocked his head at that and you realized that he’d left his cap and jacket in the car, and it was the most exposed you’d seen him.  The tight shirt did nothing to hide his frame, but the glove he still sported on his left hand didn’t escape your notice.

“What what was like?”

“Quiet mornings.”  You sigh, looking out across the water.  “Time to myself.”

“You don’t mind the company?”  You can’t help the smile that his words bring to your face, one that he echoes as he leans against the railing beside you.

“Not when the company is this nice.”  He’s quiet then.  As are you, both of you just sharing the quiet sunrise as if you’d known each other your entire lives.  When you hear the shutters of his camera, you turn, startled to see his camera pointing not at the scenery - but at you.  It takes you a moment to find your voice as you stare back at him.  Finally, you whisper “Bucky?”

“Sorry.  I couldn’t resist.”  He explains sheepishly, letting the camera rest against his chest at the end of its strap.  “You just looked so…so at peace.”

You feel the blush instantly, averting your eyes once more.

“You’re beautiful.”  He says quietly as if he’s scared to break this trance.  “Which I know is the last thing I should be saying to a married woman.  But it’s true.  I’ve never seen someone so beautiful.”  Bucky rambles, taking in every curve, every dip, every nuance there is to you.  “You make me feel safe.  Like I’m not some - some monster.”

“Bucky,” you whisper, “what -”

“I’m sorry, Doll.  I never should’ve opened my trap.”

“No, I’m…I’m not mad.  I just - a monster?  Bucky, you aren’t a monster.”  Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching for his shoulder, desperate to comfort him.  Before you can touch him, however, he’s jumping away from you with fear filled eyes.  You mumble a sad sorry underneath your breath before dropping your hand to your side.

“No,  _I’m_  sorry.”  He groans as he drags his hands down his face.  “Can we just start over?”  You nod at his sorrowful voice, encouraging him with a small smile.  After a moment, he returns the smile and glances at his camera, then you, then the horizon.  “Humor me?”

His whisper dances up your spine, and before you know it you’re nodding, listening as he instructs you to look out upon the horizon, then back at him, then down at the bridge itself.

Bucky doesn’t consider himself a photographer - not in the artistic sense, anyway.  But when he looks at you through the lens of his camera, commanding his attention with a simple glance, he knows you’re the most beautiful work of art he’s ever seen.

The way he’s looking at you, a small smile tugging at his lips, has your heart pounding and your cheeks warming.

“Bucky?”  He starts at the sound of his name, tentative voice breaking him from his thoughts.  You don’t have to speak aloud for him to know exactly what you’re asking.

“I didn’t want to forget.”  He whispers, unable to meet your eyes.

“Forget?”  There’s a story there, you realize.  One you are simply dying to know.

“This.”  He answers, eyes tracing the rising sun and the way it paints the sky different colors.  “I didn’t want to forget this place, this moment…you.”  He snaps a photo of the landscape to escape the silence, speaking his next words under his breath.  “Though I don’t know how I ever could.”

You hear them anyway.

“Forget this place?”  You offer, not wanting to push him but wanting so desperately to see what hid behind his mask.

“Forget you.”

For a moment, the only sounds you hear are those of birds chirping their good mornings, crickets playing their songs, and your heart thumping loudly in your ears.

When he looks at you like that…

“Tell me about your photos.”  You say with sudden courage.  “How do you know what you want to photograph?”

A good question.  One he’s not sure he knows the answer to, or at least he’s never thought of it.

“I photograph what makes me feel.”  He says, handing the camera to you but being very careful as not to touch you.  “I spent so long only feeling anger and fear, but when I see something beautiful that reminds me what my life used to be like…what it could be like again…”  He gestures to the horizon, your own eyes following.

Suddenly feeling an overwhelming sense of peace, you raise the viewfinder to your eyes and snap a picture before you can convince yourself not to.  Not a moment later, your picture comes up on the tiny screen and you show it to Bucky with pride.

There’s something unreadable in his eyes when he looks at your picture, then at you.

“I’m sorry I kept you so long.”  He says suddenly, pulling you from this perfect moment.  “I don’t want your husband to worry.”

His words instantly remind you that Erik will no doubt be calling sometime soon to check up on how you’re doing alone.  But you don’t want him to leave again.  You don’t know what you would do if he took this dizzying feeling away once more.  So you say the first words that come to mind, hoping he’ll accept as you gently hand him back his camera.

“Come on.  I’ll make you breakfast.”  Once again, his fingers do the most to make sure there is no contact between the two of you.  But even without touch, the moment feels beyond intimate.

He gifts you with a blinding smile, snapping one more picture of you and the horizon, genuine happiness adorning your face.

“I’d like that.”


	7. Something From a Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing an older reader is something new to me, and I find the challenge quite fun. That being said, **I did go back and edit the timeline a little.** Your kids are a lot younger (not teens). I just didn’t want to limit the imagination
> 
> This slow burn is gonna keep on burning until someone explodes (spoiler alert - it’ll probably be me.)

“Good afternoon, Dove.”  Erik’s voice rumbles through the phone.  You smile in spite of yourself, glad to hear his voice and the kids arguing in the background.

“Good morning!  How are the kids?”  You ask, knowing something has already set them off this morning from the sound of it.

“Do you really have to ask?”  He groans as you pour some tea for yourself and water for your guest.  He smiles silently at you as you keep the cordless phone tucked against your shoulder so you can talk hands-free.  You giggle at the tone of Erik’s voice, realizing the sound was more joyous than you’d think yourself possible of.  You wondered if it had more to do with your children or your present company.

“Let me talk to Brann.”  You mouth ‘sorry’ to the man across the table from you who just waves it off before petting Mickey.  The old dog has suddenly become a lot more accepting of the new company, and you wonder if it has anything to do with the way your heart pounds pleasantly in his presence.  You find yourself suddenly thinking of something your mother used to recite when you were young.  _You can’t fool children or dogs._

It had always been a pretty good judge of character.

“Momma!”  Your daughter suddenly says, drawing you back to the phone call.  You put some space in between you and your guest so you can speak more freely with your family.  “Momma, you’re not going to believe it!  This morning Dr. McCoy taught me how to do the  _coolest_ trick!  I can’t wait to show you!  Charlie’s just jealous because his powers are just like dad’s!”  A ‘no they’re not!’ in the background has you rolling your eyes.

“Brann, leave your brother alone.  Your…”   You stop yourself, glancing over at the man in your kitchen.  You lower your voice before continuing.  “Your abilities are still developing, Charlie’s too.  Now stop terrorizing each other and go have some fun.”

“Ok!  I love you, momma.”  Not really knowing why, tears spring to your eyes at Brann’s soft goodbye.

“I love you too, baby.”  And with that, your call ends and you can return your attention to your guest.

“Thank you again for this morning.”  He says.  “Breakfast was wonderful.”

“It was the least I could do after your little photo shoot.”  You say, referencing the pictures Bucky has printed out and fanned across your table.  “I think this one would look amazing over the fireplace, don’t you?”

You reach out to point at one photo that captures the way the sky bleeds from blue to purple to pink with the sunrise, unaware of how close you are to Bucky’s hand.  The proximity and aversion to it is something Bucky could never be unaware of, however, and again he avoids your touch like the plague.

You can’t help but feel a little crestfallen at that.

It doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I’m sorry.”  He whispers, clasping his fingers together on the table.  “I’m still very skittish.  I promise it isn’t you.”

“What happened to you, Bucky?”  You ask before you can stop yourself.  A tortured look dances in his eyes and you immediately regret not keeping your big mouth shut.  “I’m sorry, it’s not my business, I never should’ve-”

“The Army.  And…Hydra.”  He says, and he’s still not sure why.  All he knows is he doesn’t want to be alone in this knowledge anymore.  He wants  _you_  to know, too.

“…What?”  He sighs your name, gripping to the comfort that washes over him with it as best he can as he continues.

“I was born in 1917.”  He says, feeling a weight that has pressed down on him forever be slightly alleviated.  “My name is James Buchanan Barnes, and for the last several decades I was under the control of an..organization called Hydra.”

Your blood runs cold at the confession, your mind going about a mile a minute.

“You’re the Winter Soldier.”  You whisper, hands coming up to cover the gasp that you desperately tried to fight back.  “It was  _you_!  You’re the reason I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened in Washington!”  The realization washes over you like ice and you can’t stop your rambling.  “I knew there was something familiar about you, about that story…and your pictures, oh God it all makes sense!  You don’t want to  _forget_  again-”

“Doll, I’m so sorry.  I know I shouldn’t be here, I should’ve just pushed you away like I did everyone else but I just  _couldn’t_.  I can’t stay away from you, even though I know I should, that I have to I just - I’m a monster, I shouldn’t be here.”

Chair legs scream against the floor as they’re pushed back from the table, the large warrior in front of you rising for his retreat.  You want nothing more than to reach out to him, to pull him into your arms, but you don’t want to push him.  You don’t know if he’d be ready for that.

“James Barnes, you sit back down right now.”  You muster up as much authority in your voice as you can, trying to stop him with everything you have since touch is not an option.  “You are not a monster, and I am not done talking to you.”

The confusion is evident on his face, but he does as you ask, albeit hesitantly.

“You were in the Army?”

“Yes.”

“During  _World War II_?”

Silence, only for a moment.

“Yes.”

“And that’s when…”  You trail off, not quite sure how to say it delicately.  Turns out, you don’t have to.

Before you can continue, Buck is reaching for his gloves, sliding them off his hands for the first time since you’d met and a sliver of silver catches your eye.  A moment later, he’s reaching for the collar of his shirt, freezing for only a moment, before tugging it over his head.

You forget how to breathe for a moment, staring at the Adonis in front of you, metal arm and all.

“I fell off a train.”  He starts, flexing his metal fingers as he stares at them remorsefully.  He’s never been this comfortable being exposed to someone, a fact that he tries his best to ignore.  “Steve was there.  He tried to catch me, but…”  Words fail as he closes his eyes tightly, swallowing down a thick ball of emotions.  “I don’t know how I survived.  Probably what those sick fucks did to me while I was being held captive.”  His voice is almost a growl, his teeth clenching as he recalls the experiments that were run on him.  “I wish I hadn’t.”  He whispers, your ears barely catching the words.

_He wishes he’d died._

But then he wouldn’t be here.  With you.

“I did unspeakable things.”  He admits, looking down at his hands once more.  He watches the movement, suddenly aware of just how exposed he is and he pulls his henley back on.  “And every single time I had to…kill someone,” the words are difficult to speak to someone as perfect as you, “I could only hope they wouldn’t turn out to be  _mine_.”

 _Soulmates_.

“I don’t know if I could’ve handled that.  No.  I  _know_  I couldn’t have.”  He sighs loudly, the weight of his confession dragging his massive shoulders down.  “I haven’t touched anyone that wasn’t a mark in over six decades.  I don’t deserve to.”

He’s not sure why he’s telling you this, even more, unsure of why it feels so natural to do so.  Like it’s what he was meant to do, why he was here - with you.

“Erik isn’t my soulmate, or rather I’m not his.”  You say suddenly.  “He had one, before.  She was killed.  I don’t know how - he doesn’t like to talk about it.  But his wife and daughter were murdered when he was younger.”  He was staring at you intently, eyes never wavering as you spoke.

If he was telling you his secrets…well, it was only fair.

“We got married for convenience sake.  Not love.  Sure, I love him and he’s the father of my children, but…I’m under no impression that I could ever live up to his soulmate.  At least not to him.  He’s my best friend.  He married me to heal scars from long ago and I married him because no one would want someone defective like me.”

“Defective?”  Bucky all but snarls.  “Y/N, you’re perfect.  Don’t you  _dare_  think otherwise.”

You do your best to fight the blush crawling up your neck and cheeks but to no avail.

“But I am.”  You counter quietly.  “What good is a mutant child to normal men?”

Your kitchen is quiet once more as Bucky searches for words.

“What?  Y/N, what do you mean?”  His voice is soft, not wanting to push you but desperate for answers.

“My family is gifted.”  You admit to the first person other than your mother.  “Erik can manipulate metal.  Charlie too.  Brann’s special. She got whatever remained dormant in me, and we’re still not sure the extent of her abilities.”

You know you should stop.  That you should keep your family’s secrets hidden, but you just  _can’t_.  Not anymore, and not from  _him_.

“The doctors were able to place it early, that I was different.  I showed no outer signs of abilities, but further research showed that I would never bare normal children.  It severely limited my options in life.  With Soulmates being fewer and farther between, marriages like mine happen all the time.”  You explain sadly.  “You know you can’t have your soul mate, but to have a friend, someone you love, and the two of you can have children together…  When I met Erik…it just seemed so serendipitous, like the Universe had put us together for a reason.  Despite it all…I’d always wanted to be a mother.  He was able to give me that.”  You meet his eyes, tears welling up in your own.  “You’re not the monster here.”

It took everything Bucky had not to just launch over the table and scoop you into his arms.  But not for himself, but for you.  He didn’t deserve a soulmate, didn’t deserve gentle touches, and love.  But you deserved so much more.

“What a pair we make.”  He chuckles quietly.  “I’ve never told anyone either.”

“I’m glad you told me, Bucky.”

“Yeah.  Yeah, me too.”


	8. Get Closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *said like Heath Ledger’s Joker* “And here…we…go!”

The days pass slowly, feeling more like years as Bucky finally agrees to stay in Charlie’s room and not down the road in his pickup.  By the fourth day that your family’s been gone, the two of you settle into a small routine of sorts.

You make the food while Bucky watches TV, catching up on everything he’s missed - such as movies, the news, you name it - all while gently petting Mickey who’s almost always strewn across his lap.  After your meals, he cleans up in the kitchen while you retreat to the living room with the house phone to catch up on everything your family is learning.

It’s strangely freeing to be able to speak so openly in front of Bucky about such things.  It’s a luxury you never knew, but one you couldn’t see yourself going without now.  He smiles at you when you giggle at something your kids have said, pausing in his work to really take you in.

He’s never felt such a connection to someone before, and it should scare him to death.  But it doesn’t.  Instead, he stays, clinging to every moment he has with you.

You do the same.

That evening after dinner, the two of you make your way outside with coffees in hand.  The sun hangs low in the sky as you make your way over to the porch swing, Mickey placed methodically between the two of you so there is no chance for an accidental touch.  Bucky hasn’t said it aloud, but he is beyond grateful that you are so kind and willing to accommodate his fears.

He knows he doesn’t deserve to be here with you, but he isn’t going to be the one to leave.

“Tell me about Steve.”  You say suddenly, turning your body to face his.

A smile tugs at his lips, or maybe a smirk, and after he takes a sip of his coffee, he begins.

“Steve was always such a punk.”  He chuckles.  As the two of you have gotten more comfortable around each other, his language has become more and more colorful.  A trait you know has everything to do with growing up in Brooklyn, New York.  It’s oddly charming.  “He was such a spitfire, couldn’t let any wrongdoings go.  It got him in way too many scrapes to count.  And guess who was always there to bail him out.”  With a wink, he downs the rest of his drink and sets the cup in between him and the dog.

“We learned about him in school.”  You admit.  “I can’t imagine the almighty Captain America being a small kid.”  That earns you a chuckle.

“Trust me doll, that little punk was a rotten as they come.  And don’t let him fool you with that good guy act.  He curses like a sailor, just like the rest of us Brooklyn boys.  Cursed up a string that would’ve made a soldier blush.”  The way he speaks about his best friend warms you right to the core, a feeling of affection so contagious you don’t even need the coffee to keep you warm anymore.  “The Howling Commandos was a name that fit more than one would think.”  He jokes, silver fingers brushing through Mickey’s coat.

A comfortable silence settles over you as you watch the sun descend and Bucky finds a comfort in Mickey’s soft fur.  Bucky’s voice breaks you out of the moment when he asks “What about you, Doll?”  

“What about me?”  You counter.  “My life was nowhere near as exciting as yours, I’m sure.”

“C’mon Doll, humor an old man, will ya?”  He winks again, this time a blush crawling over your skin.  You lamely clear your throat to cover up your embarrassment, but you’re positive he’s noticed.  He is a trained assassin after all.

You tell him of your childhood, how you grew up in a time much different than his own.  He smiles a truly contagious smile when you talk about your family, your best friends, your school.  His chuckle dances over your spine when you tell him of your wild college days, and you can’t help but laugh along with him.

He marvels at the way you lose yourself in memories.  You’re like a dream, he catches himself thinking.  A dream that he desperately wants to wake up from, for your own good.

He’s not sure when he started staring at your lips, but when he catches himself he can’t look away.  Not from you, not from your smile, your soft skin that almost glows in the dusk light.

“Should we turn in?”  You ask suddenly, nodding to the sky as it darkens and the sun disappears.  His eyes snap back to your own, the movement catching your attention.   _Had he just been…no, couldn’t be._

“Sure, thanks again for the coffee.”  His voice is soft as he rises.  Mickey jumps from the swing at the sudden movement, taking his place at your feet as the two of you retreat into the house.  He stops a moment, focus lingering on the last bit of light before the sun is completely out of sight.  “This place is amazing.”

“Don’t know if that’s the word I’d use.”  You murmur as you observe him once more.  His gaze is soft, his hair that has been haphazardly thrown back blowing in the wind.  Colors you hadn’t caught before shine through it as the light catches it, and - if possible - he becomes even more beautiful to you.

“No, really.  Growing up in the city, I never thought I’d see anything like this.  I think Steve would’ve liked to sketch this.”

Emotions dance across his tortured, handsome face before his peaceful mask settles back over his features and he grants you a shallow smile.  One that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and you find yourself becoming hyper-aware of the fact that you’ve already gotten a read on him.  You can tell the difference in his expressions - memorizing the way his eyes crinkle and shine when he smiles a genuine smile.  This was not one of those, and you so desperately wanted it to be.

Finally, he makes his way inside behind you.  He reaches toward the sink to dispose of his mug at the same time you do.  His guard is down, which never should’ve happened, too lost in his thoughts of a simpler time, of his friend Steve.  It’s only a moment, barely a brush, but it’s enough to rip the wind from your lungs.

Time stops, you forget how to breathe, and an unspeakable spark surges through your veins.

It couldn’t be, right?

You were imagining it, the way his skin felt against yours.  It was just the caffeine.  He would never let himself touch you.  Not with how careful he’d been this entire time.

A crash meets your ears and you suddenly realize your mug has slipped from your grasp to shatter in the sink.  Bucky’s joins it instantly, a deep and possessive growl filling the space between you.

_Mine._

The word echoes in your minds before either of you can stop it.  Along with it, a waterfall of emotions that you never expected to feel.  You. are. imagining. this.

You have to be.

“Bucky?”  You ask, voice tight as you fight past the lump in your throat.  He won’t look at you.  You’re surprised you can even look at him.

“This is wrong.”  He snarls, more at himself than anything else but the sound still makes you jump back.  “There’s no way… I don’t deserve one.”

His eyes are snapped shut, the force evident on his brow.  You think you even see tears, but you can’t figure it out before your attention shifts to his fists, clenching your kitchen counter hard enough to crack the paint.

“Deserve what?”  You whisper, reaching out to touch his shoulder.  It had already happened, right?  There was no harm in another touch?

_Soulmates aren’t real.  This isn’t **that**._

But then your eyes meet, and you have to stop lying to yourself.

“Deserve  _you_.”

In an instant everything you know as right and wrong is thrown to the wind, the only thing you care about is the arms wound tightly around your body, the chestnut hair slipping through your fingers, and the tongue dancing against your own.  Lips and teeth clash, sighs being exchanged into each other’s mouths before Bucky’s cold fingers are wrapping around your hips and he fixes you with the most disarming stare.

There is barely any space between you now, your lower back pressed into the counter as this wall of a man presses further and further into you.  Before either of you can think, he descends on you once more, a growl of your own rippling in your chest.

_Mine._


	9. Falling Into You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know when you write forever and you think “wow, this must be a novel by now!” And then it’s only like 1,300 words? Yeah, that was me. This one fought me. I’m still not sure if I’m satisfied with it or not, but here we are.

Your blood is fire in your veins.  Every touch sends you absolutely reeling.  This is what soulmates felt every time they touched?  How had you gone your entire life without feeling  _this_?

Before you can gather your senses, strong hands sweep yours up from your sides to rest against the wall on either side of your head as your fingers lace together tightly.  Bucky’s eyes pin you as he pulls away, forehead resting on your own.

“We should stop.”  He breathes between kisses, hips rolling against your own.  You sigh against chapped lips at the sensation, letting his body guide yours from wall to wall, the house whirling around you as everything but the feeling of his skin against yours melts away.

“Yes, we should.”  You say, winding your fingers ever tighter with his and pulling him that much closer to you.

This is wrong.  On all sorts of levels is this wrong, but then again it  _isn’t_.  He’s  _yours_.  You’re  _his_.  Why  _shouldn’t_ you be doing this?  But there’s no stopping it now.  Not with the way your hearts beat in tandem, your blood thrumming through your veins with every simple touch.

Suddenly, strong fingers grip your hips, holding you at arm’s length so that infinitely blue eyes may peer straight into your own.

“Y/N…I…”  He swallows, your gaze flickering to the way his throat bobs with emotion.  “I know you aren’t mine, but I can’t-”

“I am, though, Bucky.  I  _am_  yours.  And you’re _mine_.”

“But Erik-”

“Was never mine.  We have a different kind of love, sure, but he was never mine.  His heart will always belong to Magda.”  You say the name for the first time since the two of you’d met.  A secret that belonged to Erik, not you.  But how could you keep Erik’s soulmate a secret from your own soulmate?  He’s so much taller than you as you look up into the eyes of a broken man, his gaze searching your own for any hint of hesitation.  But he would find none.  “Just like mine will always belong to you.”

Bucky is silent as you stand on tiptoe, tentatively pressing your lips to his own.  You, a woman he’s only known for a few days though it feels as though it has been his entire, abnormally long lifetime.  He should want to push you away, should want to run out the door and leave you to your calm, normal life…but he can’t.  Not when holding you against his chest, moving his lips against yours, feels so damn _right_.

“Y/N,”  He whispers again, large hands cupping your face with warring sensations of cool and warm on either side of your jaw.  “My Y/N…”  His chuckle sends goosebumps spreading along your skin, a detail that doesn’t slip the super soldier’s attention.  And the way his muscles ripple underneath your wandering hands is a detail that doesn’t slip yours.  “I think I like the sound of that, Doll.  My Y/N.”  He repeats, then a sigh.  “My soulm-”

“Whatever this is,”  You whisper, his words dying against the finger you’ve pressed against his lips.  His gaze softens, a pang of hurt at being corrected hiding just beneath the surface.  Your heartbeat is evident in your whispered voice.  “Whatever we do from here, please, just…don’t give it a name. Everything I’ve ever done has been planned, put in my path, and I can’t do it anymore.  I want to  _feel_. Bucky, I can’t - I want to believe that we are the first people to know what this feels like…to…”

“To cross this line?”  He asks as his gaze softens, warm fingers brushing across your jaw to cup your cheek.  The two of you share a smirk, and in a youthful moment that you’re caught off-guard by, you swat his shoulder playfully, relishing the laughter that you receive.  

“Stop reading my mind.”  You whisper, only partially joking, but also knowing that the connection that you share will lead to far more than mind reading.

“Then how about you read mine, Doll?”  There’s a moment of silence as he smiles softly at you before hoisting you into his arms.  Sure, Erik had carried you bridal style across the threshold, but this felt far more intimate - like this was the beginning you’d been waiting for your entire life.  You feel his strong strides as he slowly makes his way up your staircase to the master bedroom and suddenly his thoughts invade your mind and you see yourself as he had seen you.

So many times he’d passed your sleeping form buried under your sheets in your room, watching your silhouette rise and fall with peaceful breaths, and so many times he’d had to force himself to keep walking.  Though he’d wanted nothing more than to cross the small space from the hall to your bed and wrap you up in his arms, he’d held himself back.  

Like he had  _always_  done, he held himself back.

But he wouldn’t hold back any longer.

Not when you were cradled so perfectly in his arms, your lips practically beckoning him to kiss you.

You were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and suddenly his life made sense.  

“I love you,”  he whispers, placing you carefully on your bed, gently enough that it seems you might break.  Who knows, you might with the way he is absolutely staring into your very soul.

“Bucky…”

“I  _love_  you, Y/N.  I’ve done vile things, things I don’t remember…some I wish that I didn’t…I’ve never felt anything but shame.  But being here, with you?  Maybe it was all to lead me here.”  It’s an odd thought, the thought of a broken mind desperately trying to justify all the wrongs that have been done to him.

The thoughts are eating away at him, the shadows of his past playing behind his tormented gaze and in your own head as his emotions bleed through across your connection.  The thoughts only cease when soft, timid fingers brush across his cheekbones, your touch anchoring him back to the now.

And when he returns to you, those demons disappearing from his stormy orbs, you see the man you love - the man who was made for you - and you pull him to your lips once more.

The same electrifying energy as before rumbles between the two of you, surging where your lips meet and with a groan, Bucky’s hands find your hips once more, holding you to his chest as the two of you descend to the mattress.

Words become impossible, the two of you crashing together like waves in the ocean so intense that you almost forget how to breathe.  Bucky is passionate, attentive.  He leaves no inch of you untouched - worshiping you like you’ve never been worshiped before.  Like you were the first and only woman he’d ever seen.

The hole in your chest is gone, filled now with burning kisses, cold metal fingers, and scruff that tickles your most sensitive skin.  When he finally sinks into you, you’re blinking back tears - a pleasure so blinding welling in both of your chests.  Every nerve ending is alive, your head swimming as you feel not only your own pleasure but  _Bucky’s_  as well.  You feel the way he moves above you - inside you - feel the dizzying pleasure he does as you squeeze down around him and it takes everything you have to keep from screaming to the heavens.  Bucky, however, has no desire to hide the way you make him feel.

Instead, he peppers kisses all over you, sighing and moaning into your throat as his strong hands dig into your hips that rock with every thrust of his own.

He fills you so completely, like you were made for each other - a thought that has you giggling over the silliness of it all.  Of course you were made for each other.  You were  _soulmates_.  But had any soulmates ever felt like this?  Felt like they hadn’t known what it felt like to be complete until they were wrapped in the arms of their other half?

And what arms they were…

Bucky grunts lowly when you test your fingertips along his biceps, trailing the pads across sensitive skin and metal.  You would wonder how it feels to him if you couldn’t so clearly read his mind and feel every sensation he does.

Neither of you is long for this, that fact abundantly clear as Bucky’s hips stutter and your nails dig into his back.

With a sudden courage and no small amount of mischief, you press your palms against strong shoulders and push.  The mountain of a man rears back with little effort, as if anyone so small as you could move him, but he gets the idea almost instantly - probably because it was an idea the two of you shared in your joined minds - and as he settles back into the pillows, he’s pulling you atop him once more.

Twin sighs meet the air as you sink down on him, his head reaching a depth it hadn’t before and before you can stop yourself, you’re digging your fingers into the swelling muscles of his pecks to steady yourself and are rewarded by a feral growl.  It only takes a few desperate rocks of your hips before you’re crying out his name, shamelessly rutting against him as you ride out the strongest orgasm of your life.  Bucky is right behind you, the cries of your mutual pleasure hurling him over the edge as he grips you tightly and spends everything inside of you.

You’re honestly not sure if you’ll ever come down from this high, especially when Bucky pulls you into his arms, tucking you against him and dropping kisses to the top of your head at a million miles a minute.  You echo the sentiment, kissing the soft skin of his tan collarbones until the two of you are drifting off into the most restful sleep you can remember to date.

A satisfying thought to you, though a terrifying one to Bucky.

What if this mind sharing had negative repercussions?  What if you shared his night terrors?  What if you saw the horrible things he had done?  What if-

“Bucky?”  You say quietly, noticing the shadow behind his eyes.  When you get no answer from this, you speak up again.  “James.”

This time, clear eyes find yours, any worries he may have had all but chased away by the admiration in your eyes.  And if anything does linger…

“I love you, Y/N.”  He whispers, pressing a dizzying kiss to your lips, and for a moment you wonder if round two is mounting.  But then the two of you share a yawn, followed by laughter - his low and intoxicating in contrast to your feminine giggles.

“I love you too, James.”  Heavy lids begin to close over tired eyes as you run your fingers along his exposed skin.  Bucky mirrors the actions, and before either of you can register what’s happening, you drift off into a shared dream.

A dream where reality _never_ sets back in, and you can spend an eternity in each other’s arms.

But it’s just a dream.


	10. Who We Are And Who We Want To Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrote about 500 words of this after finally breaking my writer’s block on this piece, and tumblr crashed on me. UGH.

Beems of sunlight brighter than he can ever remember is what eventually awakens Bucky.

It’s an odd sensation for him, waking in a bed, warm and comfortable.  Though if the warmth is due to the streams of light spilling through the blinds and across the bed or the soft body wrapped up in his arms, he’s not sure.

He doesn’t quite want to open his eyes just yet, but then you’re stirring in his arms, and he doesn’t want to miss the view.

You’re not awake, not yet, but you spin in the strong embrace so that you’re facing your lover in the morning glow.  He watches you silently, a smile creeping across his lips as he takes in the way you sigh against him.

You look more peaceful now than you ever had since he’d known you, and the sight is a more than welcome one.  Worries aren’t playing on your brow, you aren’t tense waiting by the phone for your family’s call, you aren’t wearing a mask.  This is complete, true relaxation and it’s a good look for you.

The sensation of being watched is what finally lures you from sleep, something incredibly alien to you.

Your sleep rattled mind half expects to see Erik’s eyes when you wake up, but you know better.  Blue eyes meet yours when you finally blink your eyes open and you’re sure you’re wearing as large - if not sleepy - smile just as Bucky is.

“Good morning, beautiful.”  He says, voice gravelly with sleep.  The sound sends pleasant shivers up your spine that you hope he misses.  He does not.  “How did you sleep?”

“Wonderfully.”  Your limbs pop as you strech, Bucky coming to hover above you to give you room to fully awaken.  You can tell by the hard heat now pressing into your tummy that he hasn’t been awake too long either.  “Thanks to you.”

He chuckles lowly, leaning in to press his lips to yours gently.

“Glad to be of assistance.”  His grumbling voice turns to a groan as you reach between the two of you, fist wrapping around his erection.  “Doll…”

“I want to feel you again, Bucky.”

Well, now how can he deny you when you bite your lip like that and stroke him so softly.

He sinks into you slowly, nowhere near as aggressive as last night’s lovemaking but nowhere near less passionate.  You sigh into the morning air, hands finding purchase in his hair.  The growl this earns you makes you shake.

It isn’t long before the two of you are climaxing, Bucky holding you tightly as you come down for the second time in several hours.  He stays atop you, weight pushed up onto his hands so as not to crush you.

“I love you.”  He whispers, pressing kisses to each eyelid.

“I love you too.”  You return the gesture, cupping his strong jaw in your palms so you can pull his face to your own.  “Bucky?”

“Hmm?”  The questioning hum vibrates against where his lips are brushing your shoulder and you grant him a shiver.

“This is the happiest I’ve ever been.”

“Me too, Doll.”  A comfortable silence settles over the room, the only sound filling your ears is the soft inhales of the chest pressed against your ear.  You could get used to this.

* * *

“Momma, momma, momma!!”  Brann’s overexcited voice squeals through the receiver.  Bucky chuckles at the sound, and also at the sight of you holding the phone so far away from your scrunched up face.

“Hello, little one!”  You chuckle, cooing at your overexcited child softly.  “Poppa said you had news for me?”

“Mommy!  I know what my powers are!”  His super-sensitive hearing picks up the words loud and clear, but even if he hadn’t he may have been able to put the pieces together based on the unadulterated pride beaming from your smile.

“Oh sweetheart, that’s amazing!  What can you do?”  You ask, relieved that Bucky is someone you can trust enough to share your own excitement with.  Strong arms wrap around your waist, picking up the conversation as Brann chatters away.

“Mr. Xavier is helping me a lot, Momma!”  She says after a very excited and distracted explanation that you may or may not fully understand.  “He says that I have a lot of protenti-al!”

“Potential, sweetheart.”  You correct the baby-speak, barely holding back a laugh.  “Of course you do, you are your father’s daughter, after all!”

Almost instantly your words sink in, and you’re momentarily panicking at the silence that floods the room.  You anticipate Bucky’s hand rearing back, perhaps reminded of just how messed up you really are.  But the only thing your soulmate does is hold you tighter, gifting you with a smile as your daughter says goodbye and hands the phone back to her father.

Erik doesn’t speak to you long, saying he has to take the kids back to Hank so that he can analyze Brann’s new abilities and some other terminology you don’t quite understand.  Beside you, Bucky tenses - but not from the sound of Erik’s voice.  Your mind floods with images of the love of your life strapped down to a chair, screaming in agony as he’s wiped of all memories until consciousness abandons him altogether.

You end the phone call quickly after that, wishing Erik luck with the kids and a quick ‘ _love you_ ’.  The words don’t have quite the same weight as they did when they said them to him before, or even when you said them to the man in your bed this morning.  You almost feel guilty, if you hadn’t known this is exactly how Erik felt saying the words to someone who wasn’t  _his_.

Still, there’s a respect in them.  A mutual affection that two lifelong friends share and guilt doesn’t affect either of you.  You want so desperately to tell him of Bucky, Erik has always been the one you can tell everything to with no worry of judgement…but maybe this is something you would keep to yourself a little longer…

“Got anything planned today?”  Bucky asks, taking the phone that’s emitting the dial tone from your hand to hang it back on its nest against the wall.  You’d been so lost in thought, you hadn’t even heard the call officially end.

“Not really, maybe some errands?  You…you aren’t leaving yet, are you?”

Bucky’s face twists painfully, his eyes boring into your own.

“Do you want me to lea-”

“No!”  Any tension between the two of you evaporates as you both giggle at your outburst.  “I just…I didn’t want to keep you from anything.  I mean, you must have a life out there.”  The soft smile that graces his tired face makes your heart race.

“My life is right here.”  He whispers, one calloused and one smooth hand coming to cup your own.  “If you’ll have me.”

 _If_  you’d have him?  How could you ever live without him now?!  How could you ever know the immense, all-consuming passion without him at your side ever again?!

But then…how could you explain this to Erik?  To your  _children_?  How could you explain to them that their father wasn’t the love of your life, but there was a mass murderer who they’d been taught to fear that was the only one who could make their mother happy?  What a hole you’d dug for yourself.  

No…what a hole fate had dug for the both of you.

“Doll?”  Bucky’s voice cut through your thoughts.  “I know this is a little sudden, but…I passed through a small town on my way here.  It was something that had remained untouched by time…I was wondering-I mean, if it’s alright with you - maybe I could take you?”

Bucky was a trained weapon, one who knew how to manipulate people and emit an air of utmost confidence, but…something about you made him feel young again…like nothing had ever happened to him.  Like Hydra’s grip meant nothing as long as he looked into your eyes.

The feeling was more than mutual.

“Bucky,”  You say, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek.  Instantly, his faraway gaze fixates on you - accompanied with a blinding smile.  “I would love to.”

* * *

The drive isn’t long - three hours tops -and at every point along the way Bucky is pointing out something he’d photographed and the significance behind them.  It makes the drive go by in the blink of an eye, his adamant explanations sweeping you off into a different world.

Bucky hadn’t been lying when he said this place seemed untouched by time - the skyline defined by an old bowling alley, barbershop, and dancehall among many other quaint, tiny buildings.  Instantly Bucky relaxes, glad to be off the road and out of the open.  A tightness you hadn’t quite seen - far too distracted by his tales - practically melts off his shoulders and he pulls his old truck over.  With a smile your way, he kills the engine and hops out, walking over to the passenger door before opening it grandly and offering you his hand playfully.

“Shall we?”

Most of the day is spent window shopping, laughing over lunch in the quaint diner, and countless history lessons as the two of you walk hand in hand down the sidewalks of the tiny town.  You note Bucky’s glove has made another appearance, much to your dismay - you hated that he had to hide who he was because of something that  _wasn’t_  his fault - but he openly tells you about his neighborhood growing up, and what Brooklyn was like all those years ago.  He’s been again since he remembered who he was, but it had changed and he wasn’t quite sure he liked it.  But then there were places like this, that hadn’t let anything change what they were.

Sweet touches and laughter make the hours fly by in a flash, and by the time the sun is setting the two of you had seen the entire town.  All but…

“Bucky?”  You ask, pulling him gently to a stop with your conjoined hands.  He glances back at you over his shoulder, eyebrows raised as he leads you back to the truck.  “May I have this dance?”

Blue eyes widen, his gaze shifting from you to the small dance hall that is emitting a soft rhythm.  There’s hesitance in their depths, his metal fingers flexing at his side, the whirring muted by the cotton that engulfs them.  He doesn’t have to say anything aloud, the worry of him possibly hurting you bleeding through your bond.  But then, you don’t have to say anything aloud either to tell him that he could never hurt you.

After many silent moments of exchanged thoughts and racing hearts, Bucky takes a step towards you, kissing your knuckles, and then leading you into the hall. 


	11. Almost Real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I failed to update this on Wednesday, I was out of state visiting relatives and the wifi was horrendously slow and I couldn't get this to go up for the life of me.

The music that thrums through the dark hall when you enter is foreign, something from another time - just like the man holding your hand.

But what causes your brow to furrow curiously, causes a blinding grin to spread across your lover’s face.  He turns to you, utter joy etched on his features before he all but drags you to the dance floor.  

When you get closer, you notice the live band playing classic 40′s swing music, giving new life to the classic tunes.  Sure, you’d heard your grandmother playing her old favorites as a child before she passed, but to hear it live was a completely new experience.

As was being swung around the dance floor by a man who absolutely knew what he was doing.

You look from the blowing brass to Bucky, the smile on his face contagious as he lets all his worries melt away to hold you tightly and led you in dance.

“You’re quite the dancer.”  You giggle as your heels all but leave the floor in his embrace, suddenly placed on the opposite side of him.  This compliment earns you an adorable blush and a sinful lip being drawn between white teeth.  The bashful expression only intensifies when you pull him close once more.  “Oooh, was someone a ladies’ man back in the day?”  

He doesn’t speak, but rather clears his throat nervously before brushing a lock of hair from your face as the song morphs into something slower and a beautiful woman steps up to the microphone.  You feel a pang of jealousy as you look over her curvy, voluptuous figure and perfectly curled blonde hair and wonder if this was the type of woman Bucky used to entertain.  She looked like she’d stepped straight out of his time - a much better match for him.

The thoughts are evident on your face - as well as through your bond - and Bucky brings you back to the present with a slow kiss and a gentle squeeze of your hips.

“Although, my favorite partner was Steve.”

“Steve??”  He almost roars with laughter at your expression, biting his lip to keep his laughter in check.

“Not like that.”  He rolls his eyes, and you know that that must’ve been something the two were teased about in their youth.  “Someone had to teach the lil’ guy how to dance, after all!”  Another chuckle, this one much more melancholy.  “Though he wasn’t the best student.”  The dark expression on his face brings a painful thump to your chest, and you squeeze your hand in his to bring his attention back to you.

“Bucky?”

“I wonder…”  He whispers, still far away.  “I wonder if he and Peggy ever got that dance…”

He’d mentioned that woman before…Peggy.  How he’d met her the night before the mission that changed everything, and how she’d looked at Steve like he was the only man in the room.  Much like Bucky himself looked at you.

“What was she like?”  You asked suddenly, resting your head against his shoulder.

“She was strong.”  He says softly, his pace on the dance floor slowing some as he glances down at you.  “The perfect match for ol’ Stevie.  I’d been offended she didn’t give me the time of day.”  He chuckles softly before sighing.  “But then I saw how she looked at Steve, and nothing else had ever made sense like that did.  They were made for each other.  Like I was made for you.”  He says with a smile.  

 _And now I know why I’d felt so…wrong back then_.  He muses to himself.   _Because you weren’t there…_

“The first thing that I thought when I was…falling…was that I wasn’t gonna see that lil’ punk tie the knot.”  He swallows, his throat bobbing against your cheek as you snuggle in closer and hold him tighter.  “Guess I didn’t miss anything after all…”

“Because he went in the ice.”  You provide quietly, heartbreaking at the pain in Bucky’s eyes.

“Because he went in the ice.”  He repeats with a slow nod.  “Sorry, Doll, I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t apologize.”  You cut him off sharply, raising your head so that you can look him in the eyes.  “This is part of you.  I want to know everything about you, what it was like when you grew up, who you were in the war, and everything since.”

He smiles at that, though it doesn’t reach his eyes and doesn’t last more than a few seconds. The music shifts again, something much more lively - though neither of you is in the mood for swing at this moment.

“I’m sorry to bring this down.”

“If I can’t apologize, then neither can you.”  He says, pecking you on the nose.  “This was amazing.  I’m glad I got to share this with you.”  Your eyes follow his grand gesture before his hand dips into his pocket again.  “C’mon, let’s get you back home.”

The ride home is painfully quiet in comparison to the lively and passionate explanations of before.  Bucky’s eyes stay on the road, not once glancing your way, but you can tell something is weighing down on him.  His knuckles are white on the steering wheel, his breathing shallow, and his thoughts running a million miles an hour.

You don’t test your luck by attempting conversation, but rather remain quiet in your seat as the truck zips past endless scenery.  Some thoughts of his breakthrough your mind, torturous thoughts that have your heart panging with fear.  Faces flash, only snippets of memory and you know almost instantly that he’s staving off an episode.

He hadn’t had any in your presence, but since the two of you had touched, every moment you’d experienced since meeting was shared between the two of you.  You had seen him, that first night in his truck thinking of you before an agonizing pain overtook him and then…nothing.  That bit of memory you’d been deprived of and now you knew why - because that wasn’t your soulmate.

That was the Winter Soldier.

And with the way Bucky’s heartbeat falters, his thoughts coming in and out of your own mind, you knew he was staving off an appearance by the lethal assassin.

You see different moments in flashes, flinching at the onslaught of memories exchanged between the two of you right now.  You see a young Bucky comforting Steve after the death of his mother, of the night he enlisted and how he’d hesitated on how he would tell his small friend.  You see him lying in a Hydra base, crying out as the monsters torture him and experiment on his bleeding body before Captain America is there to save him.

You even see him fall, his teary eyes staring up at Steve as the train grows further and further away.

That one hurts, a lot.

But perhaps the one that hurts the most is how you only see flashes of D.C.  You look through your lover’s eyes at the man that he’d grown up with, desperately calling for his friend and how the name ‘Bucky’ had triggered something within the assassin - enough to wake up the man who once was.

You do your best to block it out, but with tears streaming down your face and jaw clenched, you share silence and memories as the two of you finish the drive.

When you pull up to the house, you desperately want to reach over to the suffering man but instantly think better of it.  Who knows what may trigger him at the moment - but then that becomes the least of your worries when you see a figure making their way over to the truck.

_Darcy._

“Bucky.”  You hiss, your heart pounding in your chest.  That woman really had the worst timing.  “Bucky, I need you to go into the house.”  When he doesn’t respond do you finally risk touching him.  Tortured blue eyes flick to yours, but there’s no animosity pointed your way.  “Please.”

Instantly he complies, the massive man moves with a speed that shouldn’t be possible, not bothering to look back at the woman who you make your way towards.

“Darcy!”  You muster the kindest tone you can, though you wouldn’t be surprised if she can see the nerves clear as day on your face.  “What brings you over?”

“Y/N, where did you go today?”  She asks with a mask of civility, though you can tell she’s about to pop at any moment.  “Erik called me in a panic, saying that you didn’t answer the phone!  And now I see you coming home in the middle of the night with a strange man who doesn’t even so much as say hi?”

Her inquisitive tone rubs you the wrong way, and you do your best not to snap back.

“I told you, Darcy, he’s just an old friend.  We just took a day trip for some errands but we’re back now.  No need to worry.”  Your patience was growing  _very_  thin.  “I just forgot to mention it to Erik when we spoke earlier, and I didn’t think I’d get another chance to speak to him before bed.”

“Doesn’t seem very friendly.”  The pinched face woman says.  “Who doesn’t say hello before-”

“Darcy.”  You would feel guilty at the way the older woman jumps at your sudden outburst if you weren’t on the verge of strangling her so you can get inside to the man who so desperately needed you.  Especially now that you couldn’t hear his thoughts at all.  “He is a recovering veteran, and while I understand you’d like to meet our company, he is not in a great place at the moment.  Today was trying, and if you don’t mind, I would very much like to make sure he’s alright.”

Darcy is silent for a few moments, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Funny.  When I spoke to him earlier, Erik didn’t seem to know you were expecting company.”

Unbridled fury scorches through your veins at her confession, and you know instantly that you should’ve told Erik before - but now it was too late.

“Darcy, if you are insinuating what I think you are-”

“Now dear, I would never.  But if I were you, I would give your husband a call.”  A sour smirk stretches wrinkled lips and you stamp down the urge to slap it straight off your elder’s face.  “Goodnight dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with me through this story. For some reason, people on Tumblr seem to be avoiding this story which is a little discouraging since I worked so hard to create a world and a story that swept me away.  
> Thank you for your beyond kind comments, I love you all and do not deserve you.  
> Also, I don't even know what's happening anymore. Reader and Bucky are writing their own story at this point, I'm just along for the ride.


	12. Before And After You

The worst thing you could possibly do at the moment is storm into the house where Bucky is already spiraling, but God help you if you don’t get away from Darcy right now you were going to pummel her.

Bucky is in no better shape when you get inside.

“That  _bitch_!”  You seeth once your door is securely shut, and you give yourself a few moments of leaning your weight against it to collect yourself.  Not a moment later, Mickey is at your feet, his hackles raised as he stands in defense.  You jump at the dog’s sudden behavior, but a single glance at Bucky clears it right up.

His giant frame is settled in a chair at the kitchen table, completely immobile and you swallow heavily.  No thoughts flow between the two of you, and he doesn’t even look up at your entrance.

“Bucky?”

Silence.

“Bucky, it’s ok.  Darcy isn’t going to bother you.  Are you-”

Your words die in your throat when empty eyes flick up to your face, no emotions crossing handsome features.

“Bucky?”

Your lover stands, his figure suddenly much more imposing than it has ever been before, and he makes slow, determined strides toward you.

“Bucky,” you try again, holding Mickey’s collar so that he won’t make any sudden moves.  It also brings you a sense of security.  “ I know you’re in there.”

A moment passes where Bucky freezes, his gaze flickering between you and the dog, those empty eyes narrowing suspiciously on your face.  After seemingly analyzing you, he begins to walk toward you once more.

The door meets your back and you step away from the giant man before you, your palms pressed tightly against the wood - barely a breath away from the doorknob.

A million questions swim in Bucky’s faraway eyes, though his face remains a solemn mask.  Who were you?  Why did he feel this insane magnetic pull towards you?  Where was he, and better yet, how did he get here?  _Where was his handler?_

Again, his memories flash through your mind, almost burning as different stages of his life assault your senses.  Hurt, confusion, love, death.  It’s all there, behind this machine that is holding your soulmate at bay.

He stops finally, no more than an inch away from you - though there’s no physical contact.  Deep breaths fill both of your chests, the two of you holding on to the moment with fears of your own.

When you can take no more, you remove your fist from Mickey’s collar, shaking hands coming up to rest on Bucky’s flushed cheeks.

Only, your hands don’t reach their destination.

Instead, they are captured by a bruising force and bared teeth as the assassin in your soulmate’s body stares you down.

A moment passes.

Then two.

Then, finally, fingers loosen against your pulse, blue eyes filling with remorse as eyebrows furrow and Bucky desperately wonders why there are tears in your eyes, and why you’re looking at him like he was absolutely terrifying.

He goes to reach forward, flesh fingers nearing your cheek when you flinch, and all too suddenly he becomes hyper-aware of how close he is standing and the tight grip he has on your wrists.

“ _Shit!_ ”

Bucky jumps away from you as if your touch burned, that same hesitancy he’d first harbored toward you returning tenfold.

“Shit, Y/N, I’m so- _fuck!_ ”

His roar is enough to make you jump, your eyes darting first to where his fist has cracked against your kitchen table, then out the window to where Darcy had been standing not too long ago.  The last thing you needed was to have to come up with another explanation for the nosy old woman.

Especially one as to why this gigantic man had bruised your wrists and was about to break down your table.

“Hey, Bucky, it’s ok.”

“No, it isn’t!”  He snarls, remorse instantly flooding through him when you flinch at his volume.  “Y/N, I  _hurt_  you!”

“Bucky, please-”

“No, I should go-”

“ _Bucky!_ ”  Your own voice startles you, your open hands meeting his wide shoulders and pushing down with all your might until he’s seated - though you are under no impression that he had done it himself since you were nowhere near strong enough to shove a real-life super-soldier.  “Bucky,”  You say again, softer this time.  “Bucky, please.  I’m ok.  It doesn’t hurt, it just scared me a little.”

“I know.   _I_  scared you.  I shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t have to put up with this!”

“Bucky, if you don’t shut the fuck up, so help me god I will shut you up myself!”  Your outburst is enough to have his jaw snapping shut, any protest he may have had dying on his tongue.  “Thank you.  Now,”  You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.  “I was just informed that Erik knows you’re here.  I don’t know what else Darcy may have told him, but I need to call him and clear things up.  Why don’t you go upstairs and take a warm bath, unwind a little bit.”  Bucky’s blue eyes flutter shut as you press a soft kiss to his forehead.  “I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

Thankfully, Bucky shows no objection to the order, standing slowly and then disappearing up the stairs after dropping his own kiss to your hair.  When he is finally out of sight, you take a deep breath, then dial your husband.

Guilt washes over you like fire, burning every single piece of your being.  How could you keep something like this from Erik?  You should've told him the second Bucky's skin touched yours.  No, you should've told him the second Bucky's truck rolled into your driveway and changed your life with a single glance.

Erik would understand, of course!  And you just had to tell him.  Now.

There’s no answer the first time, nor the second - though Erik keeping his phone on silent is nothing unusual.  It’s by the third call - when you finally leave a message telling him to call you back - that you begin to worry.

Brushing the worry off as paranoia for Darcy’s insufferable meddling, you make your way upstairs, greeted by the mouthwatering view of Bucky settled in your bathtub.

The gigantic man barely fits, his long legs bent at the knees so that he can lean against the back of the tub to the best of his abilities.  His hair is wet, dripping down his face as a sign that he had just submerged his head and his eyes are still screwed shut.

Coal black lashes flutter against his cheeks when your brush your fingertips against his tight-knit brow - the stress disappearing under your ministrations. When his eyes open to meet yours, they’re a little teary - much like yours.

“Hey.”  He whispers hoarsely, his wet metal hand emerging from the water to cup your cheek.  He smiles softly when you lean into the touch.  “I’m so sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”  You dismiss, waving his concern away as you strip down to join him.

“You’re never going to let me apologize, are you?”  He chuckles laying back against the brim of the porcelain so that you can rest your back against his chest and settle in between his wide cast legs.

“Nope.”  You answer, craning your head to kiss him on the cheek before settling back into him.  Strong arms wind around you, chapped lips peppering kisses across your shoulders as the two of you prune in the steaming water.

“Is it too hot?”  He questions quietly and you shake your head no.  “It helps.”  He says, filling the silence as he runs fingers through your hair and your own run across his forearm that is still wrapped around you.  “They always kept it so damn cold in the bunkers.  I’ve never been a fan of being cold, but…after everything I find a strange comfort in heat.”

No more words are exchanged as his kisses trail higher, his lips tickling behind your ear as his hands search out your chest, smoothing his palms over sensitive skin.  You sigh into him, head falling back against his shoulder and you rock back against him.

Your joining isn’t hurried, except for how quickly you turn in his arms so that you can press your lips to his.  When water sloshes over the sides of the tub as a result, the two of you chuckle, then settle into each other slowly.  The only waves from that point on are those that rage inside of you at every burning hot touch he laves against your skin.

“And I love you.”  He groans, face burying in your neck as the two of you reach euphoria together.  His fingers are digging into your hips, his own stuttering enough to splash water all over again - but you are too far gone to care. “More than my own life, I love you.”

“I love you too, James.”

One last tender kiss is pressed to your nose, then your cheek, and finally your lips as he stands with you in his arms, not caring for the water that all but floods your bathroom as he carries you to the bed to connect once more.

It’s only after the two of you have chased away any sorrow and fear in each other that you finally settle down to sleep, but not before assuring Bucky that he could never hurt you.

“I can’t lose you.”  He whispers against your closing eyelids, your breath evening against his chest as he holds you ever closer.

“You won’t.”  You answer groggily, fingers tightening against his biceps.  “I’d die before I lost you.”

What a selfish woman you are.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Doll.”  He chuckles sadly, drifting off to sleep before he can hear you retort.

“To  _lose you_  would be to die.”


	13. One Second and a Million Miles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are. The moment I’ve been dreading since beginning this journey. I hope you enjoy! Also - this was the first song I’d ever heard from Bridges of Madison County and I fell head over heels for the show because of it. I recommend giving it a listen :)

For the second day in a row, Bucky awakens to a brighter than normal sun shining in his eyes and a warm body curled around his own.

A sensation he never thought he’d let himself feel, yet now that he had he wasn’t sure he could live without it.

For the millionth time since he’d met you, he tells himself how damn wrong this was.  You were a wife, a mother, and he…he was a wanted criminal with memory issues.

But that didn’t keep him from wanting to keep you by his side at all times.  And it sure as hell wouldn’t keep him from asking you to be.

You awaken to movement in your sheets, a bare chest sliding against your arms as the body beside you slips from the bed.   _A few more minutes_ , you tell yourself,  _then I’ll get up and make the kids breakfast._

But then you remember that you and Erik had never been a couple for cuddling, and the events of the past several days come flooding back to you.  The way Bucky had come into your life, how he had turned your world on its head with just a smile, then again with a simple touch before he absolutely devoured you and erased every worry in your life.

He’s there when you open your eyes, smiling down at you as you stretch your naked body beneath the sheets.  His gaze follows the movement, his jeans hung low on his hips as he kneels on the bed beside you.

“You’re dressed.”  You asses sleepily.

“Somewhat.”

“Why are you dressed?”  A bark of laughter lures a smile to your face as strong hands cup your cheeks so as to press a kiss to that new smile.

“Because it’s time to get up, sleeping beauty.”  He answers, ignoring your elongated ‘ _noooo_ ’ as he hauls you from the bed and onto your feet.  To his credit, his eyes don’t linger down your bare body, but instead, stay locked with your own.  “C’mon, I made breakfast.”

There was no way to hide the shock on your face, but you dress quickly and follow him downstairs anyway.  When you reach the table, Mickey is there by your side, panting up at you with a canine smile and you know he’s calmed down since last night’s events.

“What’s all this for?”  You ask giddily, taking in the feast before your eyes.  You don’t remember buying this much food, but you wouldn’t put it past Bucky to run to the store and put this together while you slept in.  A quick glimpse into his mind confirms this, but then he’s trying to block you out.  You’d be suspicious, only there’s no malicious intent - that you can tell - only nerves and excitement, and you find it contagious.

“Can’t I just treat my gal to a special breakfast?”  Your cocked brow, smirk, and crossed arms are answer enough.  “I just felt like I hadn’t been doing enough.”

“Bucky, you don’t need to do anyth-”

“No, I do.  This is a partnership.  You’ve already done so much for me, and then last night…We’re meant to be together, Y/N.”

“I know, Bucky.”  You say softly.  “We’re in this together.”

“Exactly.”  He murmurs, watching you as you raise your coffee cup to your lips and take a long pull.  He lets you eat in peace, barely poking at his own food as he memorizes every single detail of your face.  Finally, you finish, complimenting his cooking skills and thanking him for taking the burden off your shoulders for a morning.  When he doesn’t laugh along with you, you’re cocking your head - concern painting your face.  “Y/N…”

Any thought you may have had in your head absolutely evaporates when Bucky pushes his chair out to come rest on his haunches before you, his large hands taking your own.

“Bucky?”

“There’s nothing I can say that you don’t already know.  Everything I am, everything I could ever hope to be is wrapped up in  _you_  and I can’t imagine walking away.”

“I would never ask you to!”

“I know, Doll, I know…but could you ask me to  _stay_?  With your family?”

That silences you.  Sure, they’d been on your mind, and you’d been milling on how to tell them of your interesting situation, but you hadn’t thought about it too much.  How could you?  How could you do anything but stay with Bucky?  There was nothing else in this world that was more right than the connection the two of you shared.  Your family would understand, wouldn’t they?  You would have to make them understand.

“Y/N,”  Bucky speaks up, your thoughts flooding his own.  “I don’t know what your family will think of me.  I’m a weapon, I shouldn’t be around children, and God only knows how much Erik would hate me…  Look, Doll.  I know I have  _no_  right to ask you, but  _please_ …come with me.”

Your hands are ripped from Bucky’s before you can stop yourself, and your heart clenches at the pang of terror on his face at your action.

“W-what?”  You say.  “Bucky, how could…where would… _what_  would happen?”

“I don’t know.”  He answers mournfully, his hands coming to rest on his lap as his gigantic weight sags.  “I can’t tell you I know what the future will be.  Who knows anything?”  He chuckles humorlessly, tears breaking in his voice.  “  I just know I don’t want t go back to a world without this.”

“Neither do I.”

Your mind races, his thoughts and yours tangoing as you look around your kitchen - at the framed pictures of your family, at Mickey at your side, at the doorway where you’d marked the children's’ heights as they grew up.

“Bucky…all I’ve ever known is here…if I left this behind - if I left my family behind…”

“I know.”  He sighs, his hands reaching for yours again, then your face.  “But I can’t imagine a life without you…and I can’t stay here.  Please,”  He begs though he knows he has absolutely no right to.  “Come with me.”

“How do I go?”  You sob suddenly, the implications of both options weighing down on you.  If you went with him, you’d have to leave everything you’d ever know behind.  Your home, your children.  But if you didn’t…  “Bucky, how do I go,”  a hiccup from the sobs, “how do I go with you?  How do I pack a bag, close a door, turn the key…”  The kitchen stares menacingly at you, as does the front door, the shadows of your past and your possible future challenging you to make a decision. “…walk away? Look at where I am and who I am and tell me.  Is there something I don’t know?  How do I go?  How can I go with you?”

He reaches up then, his thumbs brushing away the tears that are streaming freely down your face.  There’s remorse in his eyes, a regret from even putting this on you, but he couldn’t just leave without giving you the option…but he also couldn’t stay.

“I can’t tell you I know what the answer will be…it’s impossible.  But this is bigger than what we can see.  This is  _destiny_.”  A passion unlike anything he’s known wells in his chest, forcing him to stand and hauling you up with him.  His endless eyes capture your own and you can’t fight the way they pull you to him. “We are tied, we are locked, we are bound; This will not be reversed or unwound. Whatever fate the stars are weaving, we’re not breaking,  and I am  _not_  leaving you behind.”

“What you’re asking me to do…”

“Is unspeakable.”  He says, then a sigh.  “I know.”

“There’s no coming back from this.”

“I know…and I understand if you want me to get out of here and never see me again after this.”  He says, but the seriousness of the moment is derailed by the way you smack him on the shoulder.

“You would be an idiot to think I would ever want that.”  He smiles at that, kissing the knuckles of the hand that just smacked him.

“Noted.”

“Where would we even go?”  You ask and Bucky is quiet for quite a few beats.

“Overseas.  It’s where I was headed after here, that is before…”   _Before you_.  “I can’t tell you it’ll be an easy life.  I have to lay low, money won’t be easy to come by.  But I can promise you I’ll make you that happiest woman on Earth if it is the last thing I do.”

Again, the house looms over you, your miserable choices staring you in the face.  If you left this, would you ever know a home again?  Or would it be hopping from place to place?  Could you leave your kids? But then again, could you ever be the mother they deserved after this?

“If we do this,”  you begin with a sigh, squeezing his fingers in your own.  Your eyes shut of their own accord, too frightened to stare this reality in the face.  “My children will be without a mother.”  Before he can answer, you’re pressing a finger to his lips.  “But if we don’t do this, they still will.”

He studies you then, the pain in your face paired with fear and feels nothing but guilt at causing you to feel this way.

“What are you saying, Doll?”

When you open your eyes once more, his face is so close, his eyes filled to the brim with concern and you lean your forehead against his.

“I’m saying that I’m going to come wi-”

Before you can finish your thought, however, - a feat to even voice the words in the first place - a blood-curdling roar rips from Bucky’s throat as he rips away from you.  His knees buckle to the ground as his bionic arm contorts painfully, winding behind his back in a shape that shouldn’t be possible and your cries rival his own as you stare in horror at the twisted figure at your feet.

[](https://78.media.tumblr.com/4c3d1fbeb62274153af0e6e644545a40/tumblr_ojbpqhtbQL1qgzpr7o1_540.gif)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pssssst...remember who has the power to control metal???


	14. When I'm Gone, It All Fades Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, this is fuckin angsty as hell. ~~I’m sorry.~~

“ _James!_ ” The name rips its way from your throat as you drop beside Bucky’s form.  He’s writhing in pain, voice escaping in ravaged gasps and it takes everything in him not to scream, his arm twisted painfully behind his massive back.

You know immediately what going on, slamming your porch door open as your tear-stung eyes scan the horizon for your husband.

“Dove,” he starts from the shadows, arm outstretched and fingers curled in gnarly shapes to torture the man at your side. His eyes are firey, a dark pain that you’ve only seen when he speaks of Magda shining in their depths.  He felt he was losing his wife all over again.  “Get away from him.”  He commands coldly. “Come here.”

Can he not see? Is he blind? How can he not see the way you’re cradling this ‘stranger’?

“I will not!” Behind your husband, your children flinch and suddenly you are so violently aware of the way they’re looking at you.  Like you’d betrayed them.  Your own  _children_.  “Erik, he’s  _mine_.”  You sob, ignoring the confused glances your children share at the word as they flit between you and their father.  “Please Erik, he’s my other half.”

Pained blue eyes look up to you, tears welling as his jaw clenches and he desperately tries to free his arm from some invisible grasp.  In those glassy orbs, you see the absolute terror of being controlled again - of  _losing_  control.

“Y/N?”  He asks, pleading quietly for help.  Your heart clenches, your teeth doing the same as you stand ready to face your husband.

“Erik,”  you say - a voice that is much stronger than you’d expect comes from your mouth.  “Let. him. go.”

“I can’t do that, Dove.”

“Why not?!”  Your frame takes up the doorway to the best of your abilities, your smaller body falling much shorter than either man present.  This fact doesn’t stop you from holding your ground.

“Momma?”  A small voice squeaks, your rage draining from your face instantly.  “Momma, who is he?”

“Charlie, Brann…”  Erik starts, looking to you once more.  His eyes search your fiery face for any sort of help.  You give him none.  “Go over to Darcy’s.  I’ll come get you as soon as I can.”

“But Poppa-”

“Now!”  You jump just about as high as your kids, debating on whether or not to slap Erik for frightening your children like that.  You refrain, however, when they run off towards your neighbor’s house so that you can speak freely.  Erik’s eyes return to you and you steel yourself with clenched fists.  “Explain.”

The tone of his voice is much gruffer than when the children were present, any patience he may have had gone as he winds his fingers tighter, causing Bucky to cry out once more.  This time, you do slap your husband.

“He’s my soulmate, Erik!”  You cry hands finding the collar of his shirt as wrenching him toward yourself.  “ _Please_ ,” you plead, “let him go, Erik.”

Half of you is expecting retaliation, another scream from Bucky as Erik punishes him further.  Only this isn’t the reaction you receive.  Instead, Bucky sighs, his large body collapsing to the floor as the invisible force holding him taut disappears.

“Dove…how did you…?”  His question doesn’t quite form, but from the years you spent together it is easy enough for you to gather what he is hoping to say.  “How did you meet  _him_?”

There’s a knowledge in his tone, a distinct disgust as he observes the super soldier next to you and suddenly you know why.  

Charles.  Charles must’ve looked in on you when you hadn’t answered.  And Charles would know exactly who Bucky was…and all he had done.

But then, maybe it wasn’t Charles…no, there was a familiarity hanging between the two of them, though it was obvious that Bucky was struggling now with a memory.  Erik’s eyes were crystal clear, though, as he glared down at the man you tended to.  He obviously wanted to scream.  To tear into Bucky, but instead, he remained frighteningly silent.

“How did you meet Magda?”  You question softly, kneeling down to take Bucky’s head in your lap and rub at the angry red shoulder where metal meets flesh.  When he doesn’t answer, you know it was in the very same way - fate.  Fate brings soulmates together whether they want it or not.  “Neither of us could have known.”

“Dove, do you know who he  _is_?!”  Erik snarls, his eyes flashing toward Bucky’s arm before reaching for yours.  You yank it away instantly.

“I do.”  Erik’s eyes widen, his lips curling back to bare his teeth at the man laid prone in your lap.

“And you love him anyway?  He’s a  _murderer_!”

“And what are you?!”  Tears stream freely down your face now, Erik’s contorting in anger - then defeat - as you scream at him.  “What did you do to all those people who hurt Magda and Nina?!”  A shuddering breath as you square your shoulders and glare right at him.  “What do you think I’ll do to you if you hurt him?”

“Dove, this isn’t…this isn’t the same.”

“How?”

“Y/N,”  He whispers, kneeling down now but being sure to give you plenty of space.  He doesn’t even reach for you.  “Think of Carlie and Brann.”

“Don’t you  _dare_ assume that I don’t!”  You snarl, helpless.  “Don’t you dare think for one second that my heart hasn’t been rent in two by this!”

He’s silent then, knowing the pain of losing a child as well as a soulmate, but not knowing the misery it must be to have to choose which one to lose.  Because no matter how this ended - you could only have one.

“Dove, I…”  Words fail your husband, his sorrowful eyes looking to you, then the ground, then finally the neighbor’s house.  “I’m going to go make sure the kids are alright…I’ll be back soon.”

And with that, you watch as he rises then disappears through the doorway - leaving you and your crumpled soulmate on the floor.

A heavy silence looms over the house as you run through the past several days in your mind - then the past several _years_.  You think of how low you were when the doctors told you that you were defective - a mateless mutant machine and how you would spend your days alone.  But then Erik came into your life.

Erik respected you, not once ever pitying you for the hand life had dealt you, and instead helped you navigate it.  He never expected too much of you, but still gave you the world.  He made it very clear that he couldn’t give you his whole heart, though you would never ask for it.  What he could give you was friendship.

You’d built your life on this understanding, knowing that you would always have your best friend - and then your children - and that you would never want for more.

But then fate threw you a curve ball once you finally adjusted.  You knew something had changed, long before that truck drove into your gravel driveway.

Perhaps it was all the times Bucky awoke from his forced slumbers - each and every one pulling you further and further away from your family until he finally broke free and stayed awake.  That’s why your life had never been the same since D.C. because fate was weaving it’s ways, bringing you and Bucky closer and closer together before you could even realize what was happening.

You dug this hole for yourself, you suppose.  If you had just waited to marry, hadn’t given in to Erik’s grief and lived your own life you could be free to go with Bucky as you pleased.  But that wasn’t the case.

You had a home.

And you had a family.

And as much as it would break your heart, you couldn’t leave either - even for your other half.

“Bucky,”  You whisper, your voice laden with tears.  He doesn’t answer with words, his throat still raw from Erik’s attack, but you can see in those deep blue eyes that your thoughts had washed over him like ice - much like they had done to you.  The sorrow swirling in their depths lets you know that you - thankfully - don’t have to voice your decision because he knows it already.  Still, he deserves to hear it.  And so do you.  “Bucky, I love you more than life itself…but I can’t leave my children.”

“I know, Doll.  I never should have asked you to.”

“But-”

“No.  I shouldn’t have.  Soulmate or not…those are your _kids_.  And they deserve their mother.  They  _need_ their mother.  I won’t be the monster that takes her from them.”

“You could never be a monster, Bucky.”

“I was…once.”  He says, eyes falling away from yours as his heart shatters in his chest.  How?  How could he have ever been so selfish?  “Maybe I still am.”

He wobbles to his feat, brushing off the hand you offer in help before he’s slowly disappearing up the stairs - leaving you in a puddle of tears and silence on the kitchen floor.

Mickey doesn’t approach you, just sits under the table and observes you with almost as much pity as you feel yourself before Bucky is making his way back downstairs with the small amount of luggage he’d even had in the first place.  In his hands, his camera catches the light, the lense staring you in the face.

“Doll, I need you to do me a favor.”  His voice is wavering, weak as he desperately holds back tears.

“Anything.”

“I need you to take care of my camera.  Can you do that for me?”  Your eyes widen, you shooting to your feet not a second later as your hands desperately shove his camera back into his chest.

“No, Bucky, you can’t!  Your camera is your world!  I can’t take that from you!  What if you want to remember-”  Plump lips meet your own, silencing any words that may have followed.  That same electricity that you’d felt at your first touch flies through your blood and you can feel the tears on both of your faces mixing at your connected lips.

“The only thing I’d ever need to remember is right here, Doll.  And I could  _never_ forget you.”  This time, you let his camera’s full weight fall into your palms, curling your fingers gently around it and cradling it to your chest carefully.  “Photograph what  _you_  want to remember.”  He says.  “That way when we see each other again, it’ll be like we never left.”

“What I want to remember, huh?”  He nods with a sad smile, watching as your eyes dart about the kitchen until they land on the antique mirror sitting by the entryway.  “Come ‘ere.”

Bucky follows immediately, taking his place at your side as you stand before the mirror.  With your hand in his, you take one photo with a sad smile and desperately try to will your tears back.  And then Bucky is moving behind you, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling your lips to his own as the camera flashes again.

“I  _never_  want to forget this moment.”  You whisper softly, not bothering to pull away from Bucky’s embrace as you hear Erik’s footsteps approach the porch.

“Neither do I.”  Hot breath fans across your neck, Bucky nuzzling his face into your skin to memorize the feeling forever.  A clearing throat has Bucky pulling back but only barely.

“The kids are on their way,”  Erik informs the embraced couple before him, clearing his throat as he prepares himself for whatever decision you’ve made.

With one final kiss, Bucky pulls away from you and retrieves his belongings before making his way to where Erik is taking up the entire entryway.  No words are exchanged at first between the two, but neither is any animosity.  Only understanding in their stare that seems to last forever - and that was a win you would gladly take.

“Do you remember me?”  Erik suddenly asks, meeting Bucky’s eyes.

“I…do.”  There’s a hesitation as his eyes flick to you, but then he speaks again.  “JFK.”

“Yes.”  Your husband sighs.  “They arrested me, you know.”  Bucky says nothing, but nor does he look away.  In the silence, Erik sighs, then chuckles humorlessly.  “You took so many years from me, letting me rot in that concrete prison.”

You could count the times you’d seen Erik cry on one hand, your stoic and strong husband had always been your rock, and even now it was obvious he was trying so desperately to stay strong as he looked to you and his heart broke in his chest.

“And now you’re taking my wife.”  Again, Bucky says nothing as he squares his shoulders to take whatever Erik flung at him.  He knew he deserved it and he wouldn’t fight back.  

But the impending violence never comes.

Instead, Bucky just looks at Erik in apology and lets his shadow disappear from the doorway as he retreats. Erik looks to you with nothing but regret in his eyes then steps to the side, motioning for you to follow Bucky.  When you shake your head, placing the camera down and standing your ground, his eyebrows shoot up almost all the way to his hairline.

“Dove…follow him.”  Erik urges, unable to bear causing you the same pain he’d once felt.

“I can’t,” you answer hearing the kids come rushing up to the house.  The relief in their eyes when they see you still standing there is enough to solidify your choice to stay, especially when they wrap their arms around you and burying their crying faces in your chest.  With a withering sigh, you mouth to your husband, “ _They need me._ ”

Erik nods then, eyes finding the truck that is starting outside of your home and then Bucky’s own eyes lock with his.

He wants nothing more than to apologize.  To you, to Bucky, to the children.  This is all his fault.  He took someone’s soulmate away from them, and for that, he would never forgive himself.

But you don’t blame him.  You don’t blame anyone but yourself.

And as you hear the old tires retreat over the gravel off your property, your heart sinks more and more.

_Goodbye, James._


	15. Always Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are. We’ve reached the end of this journey. And with it, I reach an end in my own journey! I will be moving to a whole new city and state and begin my first big girl job (post college) and so updates and posts may be sparse these next 2 - 2 & 1/2 weeks - though I will post when I can! Thanks for stickin around!!

The years pass slowly, every moment feeling almost empty as you try to live your life without Bucky.  Erik understands, better than you could ever know, and does his best to make your days easier.

When the kids are older, you and your husband sit them down and explain who Bucky was and how Erik had had a family before you.  It’s hard information for them to swallow at first, but when Charlie meets his own soulmate at Xavier’s academy do they finally understand.  The only thing Brann seems to talk about after that is how much she longs to meet her own soulmate.

Erik helps you photograph anything and everything you wish - helping you keep your promise to Bucky.  He points out shots, takes photos of you when you aren’t looking, and even when you sleep.  While you take pictures of what you want to remember, Erik takes pictures of what he knows Bucky longs to see the most.  

You.

Bucky seems to disappear after his departure from your home, only popping up in the news once as the U.N. bomber before the story is corrected and he, along with several of the Avengers and Captain America himself, go off the grid for good.

Weeks after the news of the Accords dies down, you receive a letter with no return address in the most beautiful envelope you had ever seen.  The handwriting within the letter is just as regal.

_Mrs. Lehnsherr,_

_Good day.  I am T’Challa, and while you may not know me I have heard a great many things about you.  My colleague Captain Rogers has explained to me the connection you share with the Sargeant who is currently residing in my home whom - for the purpose of prying eyes - I will refrain from naming._

_Rest assured your Heart-Song is safe and my people - mainly, my sister Suri - are doing everything we can to help the Sargeant recover quickly and safely so that he may return to you and your hearts may sing together once more._

_I pray your family remains safe and I hope to meet you someday soon._

_I will be in touch._

 

True to his word, T’Challa - who you eventually learn is the King of Wakanda - keeps in contact, sending letters to you every several weeks to inform you of Bucky’s wellbeing.  The king assures you that your ‘Heart Song’ - the Wakanda term for soulmates - will be better soon as he is under the care of the most advanced minds and technology available.  He occasionally includes pictures.

The first picture sends you into a panic attack that Erik has to coax you down from.  Bucky is encased in some kind of glass machine, cut up and asleep, and down one arm.

The next one, thankfully, is much less gruesome.  Bucky is awake this time, holding an odd camera that you gather is Wakandan in make.  This time, what was once his left arm is wrapped in bright cloth that matches the rest of his dressing, but is nowhere near as bright as the smile on his face as he plays with a group of children.

When T’Challa finally  _does_  include a return address on one of his letters, you immediately take action.  With little to no convincing, you manage to get Erik to help you develop all the photos you’d taken in Bucky’s absence and mail them off to the king with a tear-stained letter of your own, professing your love to your soldier and how god damn much you miss him.  

T’Challa responds that while this is the sweetest thing he has ever seen, he must regrettably keep these letters and pictures a secret for the moment as The White Wolf continues healing.

You rather enjoy the nickname and accept that you can wait a little while longer.

Your letters with the King continue, sometimes even including conversations with Shuri - Bucky’s doctor - as well.  You enjoy the pictures and letters immensely, knowing that Bucky is alive and well - and it makes the distance not as painful.

When the latest letter arrives, you tear into it with your usual vigor but are taken aback when the handwriting you see isn’t recognizable as either T’Challa’s or Shuri’s.

_Hey Doll,_

Your heart stops.

_Wow.  Um, how to start this?_

_Y/N, I can’t believe T’Challa found you.  He showed me the letters you’ve been exchanging, as well as the pictures.  I’m sorry I didn’t write sooner, and I’m sorry I went under - and that you had to see that._

_\- (T’Challa definitely got an ear full when The White Wolf saw that he sent a picture of him on ice) -_ Shuri’s handwriting, the tech genius no doubt having intercepted Bucky’s letter before he sent it off.  

_After everything that happened in Europe, I had to go under.  There was no other way to ensure everyone’s safety.  Especially yours.  If Zemo had somehow figured out you existed and used that against me...Doll, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself._

_I miss you more than you can imagine, and I’m so glad to see that you’ve been taking pictures like I asked.  Thank Erik for helping, please.  My favorite ones are the ones where you aren’t looking._

Your face flushes red at that.

_I know I already said it, but God, I miss you, Doll.  I’m doing so much better with Shuri’s help, and I want nothing more than to fly back and hold you in my arms.  Until then, I’ll keep sending these letters and holding your pictures close to my heart._

_I love you more than life itself, Y/N.  And I will see you as soon as humanly possible, my Heart Song._

_~James_

 

The letters continue for years, though you wish a call could be allowed since you miss the sound of his voice so much.

T’Challa assures you of what a risk that could be, though he seems as remorseful to tell you as you are to hear it.  Still, he keeps you updated and between the letters from him and Bucky, it feels like he never left at all.

Your days are brighter, your heart is fuller, and your family is as supportive as ever.

* * *

 

You can feel it the second it happens.

How everything changes in an instant, almost like a snap of someone’s fingers.

When Bucky just isn’t...there anymore.

Erik knows what’s happened before you do, can see the way everything in your body just shifts.  He knows because he experienced that exact same feeling when Magda passed.

“Dove,”  He says, his voice the first thing you register now that your world seems to have lost some of its color.  “Dove, come here.”

Instantly reality comes crashing down, and you know Bucky is dead.  There’s no other way to explain the numbness that creeps into your limbs, the fire suddenly burning in your lungs, and only when Erik scoops you into his arms do you realize that you’re wailing.

“Erik!  Erik, it  _hurts_!”  Your husband flinches at your screams of agony, recalling how he once felt and how he immediately killed everyone around him in retaliation for breaking his heart.

“I know, Dove.  I know.  Breathe, can you do that for me?”

“I don’t know, Erik, it -”

“Do it for Charlie, Dove.  Do it for Brann.”  

And you do, because you have to give yourself some reason to keep living, you breathe for the only lights left in your life, though the brightest one has just been snuffed out.

Erik, bless him, holds you in his arms until your sobs finally stop.  He asks you about Bucky until your breathing evens, doing his best to ignore the way you begin to fade between his fingers.  His eyes burn with unshed tears, hoping against hope that the children don’t come down and see you like this - half here, and half not.

Finally, his tears spill over, dripping down into your hair though they seem to fall right through you and that is finally what alerts you to what is going on.

“Erik?”  You question, watching as your fingertips seem to blow away in some invisible wind, everything you are fading rapidly.  “Erik, what’s going on?”

“I love you.”  He says, not quite an answer and places a kiss on your forehead, doing his best to ignore the way his lips meet nothing but air.  You flail for him, hands desperately reaching out as your screams come out as nothing but silence and your vision fades.

For the second time in his life, Erik is alone on his knees, his heart wrent in two as he mourns the woman he loves.

* * *

 

It’s dark then, but you don’t want to open your eyes.  Don’t want to see what has become of you after you’ve faded away.

But a soft touch of  _smooth, cold_  fingers send your heart into overdrive and your eyes fly open to take in your surroundings.

It’s oddly peaceful, everything calm and quiet as you take in your amber tinted surroundings before blue enters your vision...striking blue, one that you’d know anywhere.

_No...it can’t be..._

“Hey, Doll.”

* * *

 

_You could have driven into someone else's driveway._  
You could have tried to find the bridge another day.  
I could have gone off to the fair,  
Or locked the door, or washed my hair,  
And in a way, that would be better.

_We could have chosen to ignore what we were feeling._  
We could have prayed to make the wanting go away,  
But what we did  
Is that we loved,  
And love is always better.  
  
I could have gone with you and left behind the cornfields.  
I could have seen a world like none I'd ever known.  
I could have tied my dreams to yours  
And slept beside you on the moors  
And who can say? That might be better.  
  
I could have not been where my children turned for answers,  
And never seen what they've become now that they've grown,  
But what I did  
Is that I loved  
And love is always better.  
  
It is hard,  
It is insane  
To place one love  
Above another,  
But what a choice!  
And what a gift!  
And what a blessing!  
  
I could have never known  
That love like this existed,  
But then you kissed me  
And you left and then I knew,  
But what is true  
Is that we loved,  
And that I loved,  
And that I love,  
And I will always love  
 **And love i** **s always better.**

##  _**FIN** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This story was one that challenged me and forced me to grow as a writer. I hope you enjoyed the ride, and know that this isn’t over (Because I refuse to believe that they won’t bring Bucky back somehow, so he’s alive in the soul stone with the reader.) This is just the end for now.
> 
> _**~Lena**_


End file.
